


La Lune Joindre

by pterawaters



Series: La Lune [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Dubious Consent, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Sciles Mini Bang, Vacation, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott isn't quite sure he's ready to move on after his relationship with Allison implodes, but he attends La Lune Joindre – a two-week retreat for single werewolves – anyway. As much as Stiles loves his dad (and alpha), he hopes by going to La Lune he'll find a mate from a faraway pack. Sitting next to each other on the bus to the retreat starts a fast friendship, and maybe more. When everyone at the retreat is pushing them apart, will Scott and Stiles be able to reconcile what they’re feeling in their hearts?</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Lune Joindre

[Fanmix by erraticonstilts](http://erraticonstilts.tumblr.com/post/117828477157)

Scott’s shoving his duffle bag into the back seat of his car when a familiar SUV pulls into the driveway behind him. Scott glares up at the front porch of the house, where his mother and Talia Hale are sitting together, drinking that smelly tea Talia always brings over. 

“Really?” he asks them with a sigh. “Did you tell everyone in the pack that I was going to this thing?”

Derek gets out of the SUV, slamming shut the door and grinning at Scott. “We just wanted to say goodbye,” he says, smiling over at Braeden as she gets out of the driver’s seat. 

Scott tries his best not to look at her scars. He’s never seen a werewolf with scars before. It shouldn’t happen, but Scott hasn’t known Braeden long enough to ask her about them, and he’s been afraid to ask Talia since that time she lectured him for two hours on the history of the Wolf Moon festival.

“I know why you’re here,” Scott replies, rolling his eyes, but letting Braeden hug him anyway. “You want to have a laugh at my expense.” Scott smiles to let them know he’s not mad, just annoyed.

“Sweetheart, why would we laugh at you?” Braeden asks, her syrupy voice deceptive. “I mean, Derek and I met at La Lune just three years ago. Look how well it worked out for us!”

Scott keeps his lips shut. He doesn’t really want a relationship where it’s all about competing with each other for everything. It works for Derek and Braeden, but they’re both kind of assholes. Not that Scott doesn’t love them, because they’re pack, and of course he does. Scott just doesn’t want that for himself.

Scott’s worried that everyone at La Lune Joindre is going to be like Braeden, even though he’s never, ever met someone like Braeden before in his life. 

Sighing, Scott admits to himself that his trepidation has to be due to how much he misses Allison and just wishes he could have _her_ back. Well, the nice version of her, before she chose her anti-werewolf family over Scott.

Letting Derek pull him into a hug that feels more like a headlock than a hug, Scott says, “It’s only two weeks. You don’t have to miss me too much.”

On the porch, Mom snorts. When Scott looks at her, he can tell the snort was her putting on a brave face. Sure, he hasn’t spent this much time away from his mom since before she and Dad split up, when Dad would take Scott to visit his pack in New Mexico. Scott likes the Hale pack much better. He’s still mad at his father for breaking up with Mom. It’s not her fault she’s human. Talia gets that. She understands that humans can be important members of the pack.

Looking around at his loved ones, Scott suddenly feels like maybe this wasn’t the greatest idea. What if he meets someone more like the New Mexico pack members than like the Hale pack members? What if the La Lune is full of assholes? What if Scott has to come home empty handed – _again_ – and explain to Talia why he hasn’t found a mate yet. 

Since the fire that killed Talia’s brother, mother, and several other family members, the Hale pack has been limping along at reduced capacity. It’s one of the reasons Talia accepted Scott into her pack five years ago, when Scott’s dad abandoned them in favor of marrying a werewolf, instead of a human, like Scott’s mom. 

If Scott’s going to repay Talia’s kindness, he has to find a werewolf mate. Someone who has a better-in-a-thousand chance of having werewolf children than a human mother would. If La Lune is the only way to find that person, then that’s what Scott has to do. It’s his duty.

“Have you got everything, sweetie?” Mom calls as she steps away from the porch and heads toward Scott. 

As Mom hugs him, Scott nods. “Yeah, I think so.” He grins as Mom pulls back and says, “Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

Mom rolls her eyes and reaches up to ruffle Scott’s hair like she used to do all the time when he was little and hasn’t done as much recently. “Like that would ever happen.” In a softer, more sincere voice, Mom says, “It’s okay if you don’t find someone. You’re barely an adult, no matter what these werewolves tell you.”

Scott hears Talia chuckle behind them, but it doesn’t seem to bother Mom.

“Thanks,” Scott tells Mom, not quite sure she gets it. Ever since the full moon after his eighteenth birthday, Scott’s had this itch under his skin. Being with Allison had made the itch subside, but it came back twice as bad when she and Scott broke up. It’s only going to go away when Scott finds a mate. Even so, he tells his mom, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

When Mom steps back, Talia pulls Scott into a hug as well. She rubs the corner of her jaw against Scott’s, leaving some of her scent there. “Good luck, Scott,” she says as she pulls back, the cloud of her scent following her and leaving Scott feel unsteady in its wake. She gives Scott the toothy smile that she _knows_ is intimidating. “Don’t have too much fun!”

Scott rolls his eyes. He’s pretty sure the stories Derek told him about all the “mating” that goes on at La Lune are made up. Especially the ones about what happens on the full moon that always falls in the middle of the two week retreat. Those stories can’t be true.

Looking over at Braeden, Scott nods at her car. “Do you mind?”

“Get your stuff,” she says, pointing to Scott’s car. “We’re driving you to the bus. When I went to La Lune, someone jacked my bike from the parking lot. I had to track them down and bust some heads to get it back.”

“But,” Scott tries to argue, knowing that it’s a lost cause. It’s not even that long of a drive. Beacon Hills is halfway between the city and the retreat. The bus heading up to La Lune picks everyone up in a parking lot three towns further north. Scott grabs his bag from the back seat of his car. “Fine. Thank you.”

He gets into Braeden and Derek’s SUV, shoving his bag at the seat next to him. Derek gets back in the passenger seat, while Braeden talks to Talia and Mom about something. Derek turns to look back at Scott and says, “Don’t worry about it, Scott. Just have fun.”

“And if I don’t come home with a mate?” Scott asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Derek grins, his teeth as sharp as his mother’s. “There’s always next year.”

~*~

Stiles pulls into the La Lune parking lot about ten minutes later than he wanted to be there. He’d been nervous, so he’d had too much coffee that morning, which meant he had to take an extra bathroom break that he wasn’t counting on. A five hour drive wasn’t Stiles’ favorite way to spend the day, and he wasn’t looking forward to the drive back home, but that was two weeks away, so it was future-Stiles’ problem.

Present Stiles just had to worry about making a good impression on all the girl werewolves that were going to be on that – holy hell, was that a school bus? The La Lune organizers were seriously using a school bus to get them up into the mountains from the parking lot in the foot hills? Stiles rolled his eyes and scoffed.

After a few more breaths, Stiles tells himself, “Now or never,” and claps his hands down against the steering wheel of his Jeep before cutting the engine and opening the door. While Stiles is trying to get his seat to slide forward so he can grab his suitcase out of the back seat, he notices the sound of a familiar engine. 

No. It can’t be.

Stiles looks up, his eyes tracing the movement of a late-model Porsche as it winds its way through the parking lot. It has to be someone else. Isn’t the Leufkens pack well-off? Maybe it’s one of their daughters. Maybe she’ll grow to like Stiles over the course of the two week retreat and then give him a ride in it when they get back. God knows Jackson’s never let Stiles ride in his car, even though they’re cousins and everything.

Stiles watches in horror as a figure steps out of the Porsche. Familiar blonde hair, familiar douche-y smile. Fuck. It’s Jackson.

Pissed off, Stiles yanks his suitcase the rest of the way out of the Jeep and slams the door behind him before stomping over toward Jackson. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Jackson’s eyes go wide for a fraction of a second before his face falls back into its normal, uninterested expression. “Like you have a monopoly on La Lune?” He scoffs, taking his sunglasses off his head and pushing them onto his face. “This retreat is for any werewolf, Stilinski. Not just born ones.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You know, I wrote a letter to the La Lune organizer, telling her not to admit wolves who’d been human less than a year ago. It must’ve gotten lost in the mail.”

“Fuck off,” Jackson says, opening the stupid trunk of his stupid Porsche. “And don’t go sniffing around my prospects like you were always sniffing around Lydia. You may have been born a werewolf, but that doesn’t mean any of the girls are going to want you when I’m around.”

“Oh, my god!” Stiles cries, throwing up his hands in frustration. His suitcase falls over onto the pavement. “Can’t you pull your head out of your ass for two freaking seconds? It’s not like Dad _had_ to give you the bite, you know. He did it out of the goodness of his heart!”

“Sucks for you,” Jackson says with a smirk. He gives Stiles a little shove (oh, how Stiles hates Jackson’s new strength). “Just stay out of my way.”

“No, you stay out of my way,” Stiles cries, snatching up his suitcase from the damp pavement. “Forget you know me.”

“Already forgotten,” Jackson says, holding back as Stiles stomps toward the bus, throws his suitcase in the compartment underneath, and boards the bus.

Stiles hates the fact that Jackson is his cousin. He wasn’t so bad when they were kids and Stiles was always stronger than Jackson (if a little furrier near the full moon), but now that Jackson’s a werewolf, too? He’s insufferable. 

Stiles hopes he finds a mate from a pack far, far away from the Stilinski pack. He’ll miss his dad, and the rest of his extended family, but fuck if it won’t be nice to get away from Jackson for most of the year.

Climbing onto the bus, Stiles heads for the furthest back seat he can find. There aren’t that many people on the bus yet. Some of them look a little older, like the woman in the red pants suit and the man with the bushy moustache. Like, c’mon, dude. Just because you’re a werewolf doesn’t give you a free pass on keeping up with current facial hair trends.

In the back row, there’s a pretty big guy already sleeping on Stiles’ left, and a guy who looks about Stiles’ age on Stiles’ right. The younger guy is looking out the window with this pensive expression on his face. Stiles wonders if he’s nervous about the retreat. Maybe he doesn’t think he’s going to find someone, which is stupid, because he’s one of the best looking werewolves on the bus.

Stiles thinks the guy looks interesting, like someone Stiles could find himself being friends with. Over his shoulder, Stiles notices Jackson getting on the bus, and no way is Stiles going to let Jackson be friends with this guy when Stiles found him first. Stiles sits down in the seat next to the guy, sticking his hand toward his new seat mate. “Hey! Stiles Stilinski, from the Stilinski pack.”

The guy smiles, and it makes Stiles’ stomach flutter. “Scott McCall, Hale pack.”

Stiles whistles. “ _Hale_ , pack? Wow, that’s–” Stiles realizes he’s about to say something really insensitive. “I mean, sorry. My dad helped work the case, so I’ve heard a lot about it.”

This weird look crosses over Scott’s face, and he says quietly, “Yeah, my dad worked on it, too.”

Stiles tilts his head and takes a better look at Scott. “Wait, McCall? Were you that FBSI guy’s kid? I think we’ve met!”

“Really?” Scott’s smile comes back full force, his eyes lighting up. 

The back of Stiles’ neck feels hot, but he ignores it. “Yeah! My dad brought me to some of the meetings in Irvine. I think we played together with your trucks once. You had this awesome red fire truck, right?”

“Yeah,” Scott nods, laughing. “I remember that truck!”

“I almost got away with bringing it home with me, but Dad found it before we got very far.” Stiles laughs as well, trying to reconcile what he remembers of that little boy with this grown up man in front of him.

Scott shifts in his seat to better face Stiles, breathing in such a way that it’s obvious he’s scenting Stiles. “Maybe I remember that a little. We were really young.”

“We were,” Stiles agrees, his memories from that time fragmented and fuzzy. He realizes he can’t remember whether that was before or after his mother was killed. “Anyway, funny running into you here, hey?”

Scott’s smile falls a little and he shrugs. “I’m only going to make my Alpha happy.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, really studying Scott’s face as it shifts in emotion from troubled back to neutral. “You don’t actually want a mate?”

“I had one,” Scott says, sighing again.

Stiles isn’t quite sure what to do, or how prying he should make his questions. Instead, he tries to go for distraction, “Well, I’ve never had a mate. They say this is the best way to find one, don’t they?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Scott replies, looking back out the window as the bus engine starts up.

One of the retreat leaders gets up and gives this whole spiel that Stiles doesn’t really pay attention to. Happy to have you here, this is the general outline of the retreat, try not to kill each other, that sort of thing. Stiles’ mind sticks with Scott instead, trying to figure out how to cheer him up. It’s not like Stiles has a red truck to give him.

All Stiles has is his phone, and a pair of headphones. Well, that’ll have to do.

As the bus starts moving, Stiles asks, “Hey, have you heard of Wolves in Warsaw?” He pulls out his phone and starts looking for their latest album in his music app.

“Are you kidding?” Scott cries, unzipping his jacket and pulling the sides apart to reveal the shirt from WiW’s last album tour. “They’re only the greatest werewolf band on the planet!”

“I know!” Stiles wiggles in excitement, his leg bouncing quickly, and just slowing down a bit when he tries to stop it. “My cousin can’t get enough of Davie Juno's voice, but I think he just likes being pretentious.”

Scott rolls his eyes and grabs Stiles’ arm. “I know what you mean. I have some pack members who seriously need to get over themselves when it comes to what’s cool. Derek had this ridiculous penis car before he was mated. God, I hated it.”

“My cousin has a Porsche.” Stiles raises his voice, “Which he totally doesn’t deserve!” Peeking over the backs of the seats, Stiles grins when he sees Jackson turn in his seat and glare back at Stiles. 

“Your cousin’s coming to the retreat?” Scott asks, lifting up in his seat to see what Stiles is looking at.

“Unfortunately,” Stiles agrees, sitting back down. “How ‘bout you? Any pack members– Wait, shit. You guys don’t have much of a pack.” Stiles winces, sure he’s managed to offend Scott. That’s always how Stiles ends up driving people away.

Scott smiles, shaking his head slightly, like a freaking saint. “No, it’s okay. Actually, one of my pack members, Malia, is here.”

At the mention of a girl’s name, Stiles suddenly becomes interested. “Yeah? What’s she like?”

Shrugging, Scott says, “I don’t know. She’s Malia.” He lowers his voice, which on a bus full of werewolves is more a cue for people to stop listening in, than an actual way to keep from being heard. “I think the alpha was hoping Malia and I would hit it off when she invited me into the pack.”

Stiles’ hopes fall. What sort of freakazoid wouldn’t hit it off with Scott? Scott is the coolest person Stiles has ever met, and he’s only known the guy for ten minutes. “But you guys didn’t?”

“I had a different mate,” Scott explains. “And then Malia was more like a cousin than someone I could see myself dating.”

Stiles nods. Maybe Malia is alright. He’ll have to convince Scott to introduce them. He knows the point of the retreat is to meet as many other werewolves as possible, in the hopes of finding someone you click with for the long-term, but Stiles knows there’s nothing like having an in – money, good looks, the right connections – for getting what you want. Stiles sure has had enough of playing second fiddle to Jackson’s looks and money, when it’s Stiles’ father who’s the alpha of the pack.

Turning to look at Scott, Stiles considers him. If he’s going to get favors from Scott, he’s going to need to know exactly how Scott ticks and what sorts of favors Stiles can use to butter him up. It’s a good thing Stiles is great at figuring out what people want, sometimes even before they know it themselves. It’s totally _not_ his fault that Lydia Martin didn’t believe Stiles when he said she’d rather be dating him than Jackson. She’s just living in denial, and Stiles is going to prove it by coming home with the best mate at La Lune. He’s sure Lydia will be extra impressed if that mate is a member of the famous Hale pack.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll find someone perfect for you, Scott. And you know what? I’m gonna help.”

Scott laughs and shakes his head, but he smells more optimistic than he did when Stiles first sat down, so Stiles takes that as a win.

~*~

The room the coordinator leads Scott to after they separated him from Stiles (because of the alphabet of all things) smells like another wolf. Scott doesn’t like it. It’s not that he’s never stayed in hotels before, that he’s never had to deal with another wolf’s scent before. It’s just that this wolf smelled so _lonely_ , Scott can barely stand it.

He’s tired of the cloud of loneliness that’s been following him around since everything with Allison fell out. Scott had hoped, maybe even just in the back of his mind, that this retreat could be the end to that feeling. His hopes had only been stoked when Stiles sat down next to Scott on the bus. 

Scott drops his duffle bag onto the dresser, but doesn’t bother unpacking. He’s sure he’ll unpack at some point, but maybe when the room smells a little more like him, and a little less like it does at the moment. 

Sighing, Scott falls back onto the bed. It’s bigger than his at home, and a small part of his brain wonders if maybe Allison would have stayed if he’d moved out of his mother’s house, or bought a bigger bed, or both. Scott doesn’t know where he’d get the money for those things, since almost everything he makes working for Dr. Deaton goes toward tuition. 

The bed feels too big, and too lonely. Scott has to get out of this room.

Checking his reflection in the mirror to make sure he doesn’t have a weird hair sticking up or something, Scott ventures out into the hallway.

La Lune is held in the same facility every year, and Scott thinks maybe he heard Talia saying once that all the packs had to pay dues for its maintenance. Looking at the peeling wallpaper and smelling the hundreds of different werewolves that have stayed here since the place was built, Scott thinks maybe they should be paying more in dues. Otherwise, it’s just like any other hotel, full of single rooms with their own bathing facilities.

The hallway Scott steps out into is lined with doors, and as he starts to walk, he’s surprised that many of them are open, their inhabitants waving at Scott if they catch sight of him. He sees Malia Hale in a room four doors down from his and across the hall. Stopping at her doorway, Scott sticks his head in. “Hey.”

“Hi, Scott,” she says without looking up, pulling two shirts out of a garbage bag that appears to be serving as her suitcase. Scott rolls his eyes, because he knows Talia would have bought Malia at least three suitcases in preparation for the trip. Scott thinks Malia resents Talia’s money, partially because she misses her father, but mostly because Talia won’t tell her who her biological mother is. Scott tries not to get between them when he can. 

Malia frowns down at the shirts for a moment before holding them up. “Which of these says, ‘Unless you have fresh deer, back off’?”

Chuckling, Scott takes a look at the shirts. He points at the blood red one. “That one, I think.”

Malia smiles at Scott, setting down the other shirt. “Thanks.” She bounces over to him and kisses Scott on the cheek. “So, you meet anyone yet?”

“Just this guy, Stiles,” Scott says, though he has difficulty thinking of Stiles as “just” anything. “I haven’t talked to any girls.”

“What’s the scoop on this Stiles guy? Does he look like he’d be a good hunting partner? What does he smell like?” Malia’s smiling, but she has that Hale sharpness in her grin that makes Scott uncomfortable. He thinks maybe they all take a little too much glee in killing things.

Scott hears his own heartbeat skip when he lies. “He’s not that interesting.” Scott’s not even sure why he does it. Malia has to have heard the lie, so there was no point in telling it.

Malia doesn’t call him on it, though. She shrugs and says, “Alright.” Then she pushes at Scott’s shoulder. “Get out. I’m gonna change.”

Scott stumbles back into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind him. He looks down at his own zip-up sweater and t-shirt wondering if he should change, too. The coordinator said that dinner was supposed to be this informal ice-breaker thing. 

A laugh down the hallway draws Scott’s attention, and he sees Stiles leaning on the doorjamb of one of the rooms past Scott’s. “Striking out already?” Stiles asks as he closes his door and starts walking toward Scott. 

Scott finds himself meeting Stiles halfway. He points over his shoulder, saying, “That was just Malia. She’s like that.”

“Ah,” Stiles says, this grin on his face like he’s about to start laughing again. Scott smiles back.

Looking down at his shirt again, Scott asks, “Do you think I should change? Malia’s changing.” He looks up and sees that Stiles isn’t wearing the same long-sleeved t-shirt he had on before. “I should change, shouldn’t I?”

Stiles scoffs and claps a hand on Scott’s shoulder before sliding his arm across Scott’s shoulder and guiding Scott down the hallway. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. You look fine.”

Scott elbows Stiles in the ribs, but doesn’t pull away from Stiles’ arm across his shoulders. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want the competition. You want all the girls looking at you.”

A blonde young woman, who’s standing in one of the doorways, apparently waiting for the owner of the heartbeat that’s further into the room, looks at Scott and winks. 

“You’re onto me,” Stiles says, looking over Scott’s shoulder at the girl. “You come out here looking sloppy and Erica Reyes is into it.”

“You know it, Stilinski,” the girl calls after them, her teeth bright white between her red-painted lips. A blonde-haired man looks out of the room behind her, and Scott thinks they’re probably from the same pack.

As they approach the elevator, Scott asks, “Erica Reyes?” 

“Lahey pack,” Stiles explains. “They’re down south by me. Next county over. Alpha’s kind of a bastard, if you ask me.”

Scott cranes his neck around to look back at them. “Yeah, that’s what I hear,” he says quietly. “I think my dad might have investigated Mr. Lahey at some point.”

“I _know_ my dad has,” Stiles replies, letting go of Scott’s shoulders when they reach the elevators. 

Shoulders cold, Scott hits the button and waits. More people trickle from their rooms toward the elevators and Scott nods at them politely, but he’s not quite sure how to continue a conversation with Stiles now that there are other people right there.

The dinner is more of an appetizers and wolfsbane drinks mixer, which Scott thinks is a bad idea right around the time he’s starting on his third drink. Scott leans toward Stiles, groaning, “I think I need to eat more. I’m going to embarrass myself when I try to talk to someone.”

Eyes out on the room, Stiles hands Scott a skewer with a flat cut of meat on it. “Here, buddy.”

“Thanks.” Scott takes it and practically inhales the food. “I’d go get more, but that one handsy chick is like, _right_ there.” Scott nods at the woman he’s talking about. Currently, she’s flipping her long hair over her shoulder as she talks to this tall, black man. He looks bored out of his skull, but Scott’s not about to go save him. There’s duty to protect others, and then there’s a suicide mission.

Stiles grins. “Hey, want me to protect your honor while you grab some more of those cream puffs?”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees before he can even think about it. As they’re on their way over, Scott asks, “How are _you_ going to get away? Don’t sacrifice yourself for me.”

“What, are you kidding?” Stiles practically cries. “I’m _starving_! No way can I present the best Stiles if I don’t have the right fuel.”

Giggling, probably because his third drink is almost gone now, Scott crashes into Stiles to express his gratitude. “Alright, you go cause a distraction. I’ll get the goods and get out.”

“Here I go!”

Scott watches as Stiles swaggers forward, reaching between the grabber and the big guy. “Hey, excuse me,” Stiles says, taking a cupcake off the buffet table and licking at the frosting. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Scott doesn’t really catch what the woman says, or how quickly the man escapes, because he’s watching Stiles lick frosting. Shaking himself out of it and swearing off the wolfsbane for the night, Scott grabs as big a plate full of food as he can manage and nods at Stiles before making his escape.

He settles at the edge of the room with his bounty, tucking in and watching Stiles talk to the woman. While he’s watching the show, which is mostly Stiles’ sprawling limbs, a woman approaches Scott. “Hey,” she says, leaning against the wall next to him. “I’m Carrie.”

“Scott.” He balances his food on one hand and offers Carrie the other, which she shakes. “Hale pack.”

“Ito pack,” Carrie says with a grin. “We’re neighbors!”

“Yeah, I guess we are,” Scott says, giving Carrie a polite smile. He doesn’t remember her from any of the meetings he went to with Talia, but that doesn’t mean she’s lying. Very rarely would everyone from the pack attend one of those meetings. “Is this your first time coming to La Lune?”

“Nah,” Carrie replies, swirling the ice in her glass. “This is my third year.”

“ _Third_!” Scott asks, worried for his own chances. “I’ve heard of people coming back for a second year, but…”

Carrie laughs nervously. “Yeah. At least I’m not like Old Jed.” She points across the room to a man who looks no older than forty, but Scott knows appearances can be deceiving when it comes to werewolves. He might be twice as old as he looks, if not more.

“How many times has he been here?”

“Nobody knows,” Carrie replies, shaking her head. “The organizers won’t tell, but my aunt told me he was here when she was looking for a mate fifteen years ago. Comes back every year, I guess.”

Scott watches Old Jed for a moment, suddenly wondering if he’s seeing his future in front of him. There’s no way he’ll end up that sad and alone, right? Or at least if he never meets someone to be his mate, Scott will know when it’s time to let go and just focus on being a good packmate. Won’t he?

Stiles comes out of nowhere then, appearing on Scott’s other side and grabbing a cream puff from the side of Scott’s plate. “Hey! There you are. Nice haul!” He nods over at Carrie. “Who’s this?”

Carrie sticks her hand out and shakes Stiles’ hand. “Carrie Rennit. Ito pack.”

Stiles wipes the corner of his mouth with his sleeve and swallows before asking, “ _Ito_ pack? Oh, man. I heard you guys had to deal with a nogitsune a couple years ago!”

Ignoring the comment, which Scott has to admit he doesn’t quite understand, not recognizing the word Stiles used, Carrie asks, “And you are?”

“Oh, sorry! Stiles Stilinski. Yes, of _those_ Stilinskis. Sheriff’s my dad.” Stiles grins, but Scott catches a whiff of nervousness rolling off him. It’s so subtle, Scott doubts Carrie will notice, but it makes Scott uneasy all the same.

“Stilinski pack?” Carrie grins and sets one hand on her hip. “Tell me what you know about Jackson Whittemore?”

“If I tell you what I know, he’ll kill me,” Stiles says, shrugging. “Sorry, man. Nothing I can do.”

Carrie rolls her eyes and chuckles. “Alright. I’ll see you two around.”

“Sure!” Scott calls after her as she starts walking away, watching the opportunity to make a good impression slip through his fingers. “See you!”

After she gets far enough away, Stiles takes this little shrimp appetizer from Scott’s plate and says, “Tough break, buddy. I thought for sure she liked you.”

Scott waves off Stiles’ concern and takes another bite of food. “I’ve got two weeks to get someone to come around.” He takes a look at Stiles, who’s bobbing his head to the music as he chews. “What about you? Don’t you want to mingle a little? Meet some of the girls?”

Stiles gives Scott a smile that makes Scott’s stomach drop and flutter. “Nah, I’m good here with you.”

Not quite sure what that means, or what he wants it to mean, Scott nods and smiles. “Yeah, okay. Now tell me what you did to get away! I need to know this secret move of yours.”

Stiles laughs loudly, mouth wide and eyes bright. “You’re gonna have to buy me another drink before I let those secrets go, Scotty.”

“The drinks are free,” Scott points out, but he hands the plate of food to Stiles and heads for the open bar anyway. Maybe when he gets back, Stiles will call him “Scotty” again. Scott liked that.

~*~

Stiles sets down his misshapen clay pot and sighs over at Malia. "You aren't really enjoying this, are you?"

Malia, elbows deep in clay, smiles at him and starts her turntable again, shaping the clay as it spins. "I love having the clay all over my hands," she says. "It reminds me of running through the forest, the mud under my paws."

Stiles thought at first that Malia was being metaphorical when she spoke about having paws. She's not. Stiles has been able to piece together the fact that Malia, like her aunt and cousin Laura, is able to fully shift into wolf form. Stiles hasn't ever met anyone in person who can do it, and while he's fascinated, he's also unsettled. Malia seems almost feral sometimes, and Stiles finds himself wanting to change that about her, wanting to correct her behavior, like she's one of his little baby cousins, rather than an adult. 

"Yeah, okay." Stiles throws his clay down into a lump and starts picking it out from under his fingernails. Around the room, some of the couples seem as bored as Stiles, but there's this one who's getting into it almost as much as Malia. They keep sculpting little figurines and showing them to each other, hearts in their eyes. 

One prospect down, already well on the way to being mated, about ten age-appropriate women still single left to go.

Not that any of the women he's met so far really pique Stiles' interest. He thinks none of them smell quite right. Stiles doesn't know exactly what the scent is that he's looking for, but he'll know it when he smells it. 

The organizers shift Stiles from his “date” with Malia almost directly into another one, instructing Stiles to change into something fancier. Stiles feels like being obstinate on purpose, but he came here to find a mate, and he knows the retreat organizers are the best at this, so he sucks it up and slips on his sport coat (even if he does leave the t-shirt on underneath).

“Who’re you setting me up with this time?” Stiles asks as one of the organizers, Roger, meets him at the elevators on the ground floor. “This is like the sixth date in three days.”

“Dinner date, this time,” Roger says, his face unnaturally cheerful under his moustache. “Nice, romantic atmosphere. You’ll be dining with Erica Reyes.”

Stiles mutters, “Shit,” under his breath, because he’s pretty sure Erica has some sort of grudge against him. Also, he’s seen how cozy she’s getting with that Boyd guy and Stiles can’t even compete with his shorter cousin for girls. How is he supposed to get compared to Boyd and not come up looking like a scrawny asshole? “Can’t I just go back to my room and order a pizza?”

“We’re in the mountains, Mr. Stilinski. The pizza would be cold by the time they drove two hours to deliver it.” Roger beams and points down the hallway toward the “restaurant” portion of the retreat. “Ginger will seat you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Stiles sighs and forces himself toward the restaurant. At least it smells like they’re having steak tonight. Stiles wants to know who thought it would be a good idea to feed a bunch of werewolves seitan “chicken nuggets” for lunch. Like, how could they not see what a bad idea that was?

The restaurant smells like most restaurants, deep layers of food smells everywhere. Those odors are overlain with the scents of the werewolves dining there tonight. Most of them smell happy, if a bit nervous. Some are excited, a few already sickeningly in love. Stiles doesn’t get it. 

Like, he knows finding a mate is something that happens to most werewolves eventually. He knows it’s a biological process that’s about compatible genetics and personalities. He knows his own parents were mates before his mom died. Hell, Stiles even pursued Lydia for awhile, while she and Jackson were broken up, because he knew she’d make a fantastic mate. But, there’s the whole thing of getting the other person to like you back, and Stiles doesn’t know how to do that.

The only people who really like Stiles are his dad, and now maybe Scott. Stiles prays to his ancestors that Scott isn’t such a nice guy that he’d fake being friends with someone. Not that Stiles has ever had that happen to him before. Never in his whole life. Ever.

Ginger, who isn’t quite as upbeat as Roger, but still has a blinding smile that makes Stiles want to growl at her, shows Stiles through the restaurant. Dozens of cozy little tables, draped in red clothes and candlelit, fill up the space, and the one Ginger seats Stiles at is near the back of the room. “Here you go, sir,” Ginger says, handing Stiles a menu with two whole options on it. “We’ll be seating Ms. Reyes as soon as she’s ready.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Stiles hopes Erica won’t show up. It’s not like anyone expects she _won’t_ end up with that Boyd guy. 

Erica shows up. She shows up looking stunning in a calf-length slinky black dress with cleavage low enough to make Stiles’ mouth go dry. “Hey, Stiles,” she says with a bright smile as she sits down. “How are you?”

Stiles gives her a side-long look, suspicious of her right off the bat. “Fine,” he says carefully, trying to gauge whether her apparent interest in his well being is sincere. “I mean, they had us making pottery this afternoon, but otherwise fine. How was your day?”

“Amazing,” she says, unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap. “I got to go horseback riding with this guy named Trevor. We rode up one of the ridges and had this amazing view at the top. _Very_ romantic.”

“Are werewolves even _allowed_ on horseback?” Stiles asks, mentally berating this Trevor guy. He thinks he’s so cool, bringing Erica on a horseback ride, even though it was probably Ginger’s or Roger’s or whoever’s idea. “Which one is Trevor, again?”

“Findlay pack from near Eugene?” Erica takes a sip of her water, leaving red lipstick on the glass when she pulls it away. Leaning forward, Erica whispers, “He’s kind of a cowboy.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Again, I don’t think werewolves are _allowed_ to be cowboys. We’re predators, aren’t we?”

Erica looks Stiles up and down with this gleam in her eye like she’s thinking about ripping out his innards and eating them. Yeah, Stiles has to admit he finds the look hot. She flashes her eyes for just a second, and says, “Yeah, we totally are. That’s what makes Trevor even more impressive.”

“Oh, here we go with Trevor again,” Stiles says under his breath. He turns away from Erica for just a moment to get his bearings, and sees Ginger leading Scott to a table across the room. She sits Scott across the table from a nice-looking girl with long, straight brown hair. She looks like a sorority sister. Stiles thinks there’s no way Scott’s going to like her, but then Scott smiles at something she says and starts talking passionately.

Stiles almost has his hearing focused on what Scott’s saying when a loud tapping rings in his ear. At the table, Erica grins wickedly and sets down the fork she’d been tapping against her empty wineglass. “Earth to Stiles!”

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, shaking his head to stop the ringing in his ears. He stops himself from glancing over at Scott again. Scott’s going to be fine. The sorority girl is probably eating up everything he’s saying. “So, how’s life in your pack these days?”

Erica’s eye twitches just slightly, but her smile remains the same. “Fine. Same old, same old. The Sheriff catch any new bad guys lately?”

A waiter delivers their plates and starts pouring what smells like ‘bane-infused wine. It’s too bitter and sour for Stiles’ taste, but he might end up drinking the whole glass just to dull the pain of getting through this retreat. Stiles has no idea why he thought this would be any different from high school, with Jackson getting all the attention, and Stiles getting ignored, or worse, pushed around because the humans in the school knew Stiles couldn’t fight back without getting severely punished for putting humans in danger.

“I think Dad busted up this identity theft ring recently,” Stiles says in response to Erica’s question. “All humans. Nothing fancy.”

“Shame,” she replies, pouting before she delicately puts a cut of steak in her mouth and chews it. After she swallows, she says, “I miss the days when we always got fun stories about Sheriff Stilinski’s antics. Is it true that he deputized one of the supers he caught?”

At the mention of the story, Stiles can’t help but chuckle. “Deputy Parrish, yeah. Though to be fair, he was a deputy before we found out he was super.”

“That was around the time that benefactor was in bed with the AWL, wasn’t it?” Erica takes another bite and Stiles pauses, his stomach gone sour.

“Yeah.” Taking a sip of wine to wash away the mention of the AWL, Stiles shakes it off. “Parrish didn’t even know he was flame-retardant until some assassin tried to set him on fire.”

“Jesus Christ,” Erica hisses, the human phrase rolling off her lips easily. “If your dad spends the rest of his time investigating identity theft, I think I’ll be a happier woman for it.”

“You and me both, sister.” Stiles replies, though he thinks that’s a little rich coming from someone out of the Lahey pack. “I just hope your alpha doesn’t give my dad any further reason to call in the FBSI. How’s the arm, by the way?”

Stiles probably should have seen the punch coming, but he didn’t until Erica’s fist was already in his nose, smashing it back against the bones of his skull. “Don’t you _dare_ talk about my alpha, Stilinski. He _saved_ me by giving me the bite!”

Stiles suddenly remembers why Erica is so familiar with human expressions. She was one up until her sixteenth birthday, when Camden Lahey offered her the bite to cure something or other disease she had. Shit. Why can’t Stiles ever think before he speaks?

“Ow,” he says, blood oozing from his nose onto his hands and sleeves. Someone picks Stiles up by the elbows and starts moving him out of the restaurant. Halfway to the door, Stiles recognizes it’s Scott. “Hey, no, go back to your date.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Scott says, pulling Stiles into the bathroom that’s just outside the restaurant, in the hotel lobby. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles insists, taking the paper towel Scott gives him. “I’m already healing, and besides, you have that sorority girl waiting for you.”

“Hilary?” Scott asks, brushing Stiles’ hands away and sticking another paper towel against Stiles’ nose. “No, c’mon. You’re doing it wrong.”

Chuckling, Stiles gives up, leaning back against the counter behind him and letting Scott do whatever he came in here to do. “I think I’m doing this whole La Lune thing wrong.”

“Well, when your date punches you,” Scott says wryly, his eyes twinkling as they meet Stiles’. “What did you say to her?”

“I just–” Stiles sighs, licking some of the blood from his upper lip. It’s not nearly as tasty when it’s his own blood. “Her alpha? Lahey? My dad investigated him about a year ago. He broke Erica’s arm, probably on purpose, but Dad couldn’t prove anything.”

“And you brought that up _on a date_?” Scott gives a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “You are probably the dumbest guy I’ve ever met.” Taking Stiles’ hand, Scott puts it over the towels on Stiles’ nose, getting Stiles to hold them there. 

“Thanks,” Stiles says with a scoff, but he knows he’s smiling despite just being insulted. There’s something about the way Scott says it that makes Stiles sure he only means it in the best way possible. 

And then Scott looks down at the blood on his hands – Stiles’ blood – and starts licking it off. Stiles watches, his stomach dropping down to his shoes in a tangle of knots, his mouth dry, and his pulse pounding with this excited emotion that Stiles doesn’t recognize. On Scott’s next breath in, he meets Stiles’ eyes suddenly, his pupils dilating to make his eyes so dark Stiles thinks they might swallow him whole.

Scott’s eyes flash yellow (in response to Stiles’ own, Stiles recognizes distractedly) and he growls in his throat. “Stiles?”

Stiles swallows, frozen stock-still like a deer in headlights, rather than an apex predator. He drops his hand holding the bloody paper towel and keeps his eyes on Scott as he lifts up his chin. It’s only after he’s done it that Stiles realizes he’s baring his neck to a wolf who is practically a stranger. Scott could easily overpower Stiles like this, rip Stiles’ throat out before he could do a thing to save himself.

Stiles’ breaths come heavy and he needs Scott to do that, to sink his teeth into Stiles’ neck, to grab Stiles tightly. 

Scott’s teeth are long and pointed when his mouth falls open, and he’s breathing harshly as well. It crosses Stiles’ foggy mind that Scott’s having trouble controlling his shift, and it makes Stiles wonder if he’s having the same problem. He wants to look down at his hands, to make sure his nails are still blunt, but he can’t seem to look away from Scott and he can’t seem to lower his chin.

Scott takes half a step toward Stiles (making Stiles’ brain call out a litany of _yes, yes, yes_ ) when the bathroom door opens. Scott turns away from Stiles and away from the door, while Stiles stands there still in shock, a bloody paper towel in one hand and his other gripping the counter at his back so his legs don’t give out.

Jackson walks into the room, takes one look at Stiles, and Scott’s back, and says, “Freaks.” Shaking his head, Jackson lets himself into one of the stalls. 

Stiles turns his attention back to Scott, who gives Stiles a brief, fully-human-looking chagrined look, and then escapes the bathroom, practically at a run.

As fast as he can make his legs work, Stiles follows after Scott, profoundly confused about what just happened. When he gets out of the bathroom, he can’t see Scott, so he follows after Scott’s scent, ignoring that it smells a little different than it has before. He follows it up the staircase to the floor that has both his and Scott’s rooms. 

As Stiles passes Scott’s door, he takes a moment to listen, hearing Scott’s rapidly beating heart and not much else. Stiles thinks about knocking, but given the way Scott ran away, Stiles is pretty sure Scott doesn’t want to talk to him. Maybe Scott doesn’t want Stiles seeing how it’s almost 24 hours before the full moon and he doesn’t have control of his shift. Maybe Scott was weirded out by that display of submission Stiles showed him, the thought of which makes Stiles’ face and neck go red. 

Stiles has no idea what came over him. He’s never done anything like that before. And oh, fuck. Jackson saw him doing it. Stiles is never going to hear the end of this. He’s going to be the guy coming to La Lune every year, in hopes that he’ll find someone who’s never heard of Stiles and the embarrassing things he does.

Stiles slinks back to his own room, locking the door behind him and falling face-first onto the bed. He knocks his nose against the mattress and hisses out a curse. His broken nose is almost healed, but it’s the “almost” that makes pain shoot through Stiles’ whole head. “Fuck me,” he sighs, turning over and staring at the ceiling, contemplating what a fuck up he is.

~*~

“You ready for this run, man?” Isaac Lahey asks Scott, punching his arm a little and drawing Scott out of his thoughts. He’s been off all day, and Scott knows he can’t blame it on the oncoming full moon. This is all about what happened – or what _almost_ happened – with Stiles the night before. 

Scott can still taste Stiles’ blood on his tongue, and he has no idea what that means. It’s not like he’s never had blood in his mouth before. When he and Derek used to practice fighting, they’d bite each other all the time. Why is this so different? 

Nodding at Isaac, Scott says, “Yeah, sure.” He looks around at the group Ginger placed him in: him, Isaac, one other guy, and three women about their same ages. Scott thinks one of them is named Stephanie, but he can’t be sure. “Who’s supposed to be the alpha?”

“Ginger told us to vote,” maybe-Stephanie says, putting on her wolf-face. “I vote not me.”

Everyone else touches a finger to their nose before Scott figures out what’s going on. He sighs. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Scott hasn’t ever led a run before. When he was little, his great-aunt was the alpha, and he’s had Talia ever since he switched packs. It sounds a little fun, though. Scott also thinks he could use the exercise. His skin feels too tight under his bones and his shoulders hurt, like he’s been carrying something heavy all day.

Scott feels the moon rise, and watches as the sensation flows over everyone in his “pack”. Asking quickly, Scott learns that maybe-Stephanie’s name is actually Barbara. The others are Timothy, Nora, and Rainbow. Scott does his best not to laugh when Rainbow tells him her name, because he knows that’s not cool. It’s not her fault her parents were nature-type werewolves.

Shucking off his shirt and his shoes, Scott transforms, letting loose his wolf-face so it can greet the full moon. Already, his mind feels clouded with the singular urge to _run_ , but he holds back that urge, asking through his sharp teeth, “Everyone ready?”

Scott waits until he gets the okay for everyone before he starts running. These aren’t his home woods, but they’re similar enough that Scott feels comfortable moving through them quickly. He feels and hears his packmates behind him and it’s satisfying in a way Scott couldn’t have predicted. He’s never thought about seeking out alphadom before, but he can see why werewolves fight over the privilege. The power is heady, and not something Scott wants anyone to treat lightly. 

They’re about half an hour into the run, just moving through the trees, being with nature, when Scott catches scent of something that turns his head. It’s familiar somehow, but with the moon over his shoulder, Scott can’t think clearly enough. The only thoughts in his head are, _find it, find it, find it_. Scott’s powerless to deny the urge.

He sprints ahead quickly, following the scent through the forest. In the back of his mind, he notices that the rest of his pack have fallen away, but he doesn’t mind. He’s not tracking prey, or at least not something large enough that he’s going to need help bringing it down. The others have their own scents to chase. They can’t have Scott’s.

Scott realizes the scent is another werewolf when he catches up and starts hearing the hands-and-feet gallop of a beta-form werewolf. The werewolf pauses, probably hearing Scott. Scott doesn’t care. He has to catch up to it. There are other wolves around, his target’s pack, but Scott doesn’t let them bother him.

Letting out a playful howl as he does it, Scott tackles the wolf, rolling with him across the leaf-strewn forest floor. The wolf, the one Scott’s brain thinks of as _mine_ , lets out a surprised yip and scrambles away. He gets a few dozen feet away and turns back, panting. He looks at Scott for a moment, gives a playful growl, and then runs away.

Scott knows he’s meant to follow. As he runs, darting around trees and jumping over logs and rocks, he remembers the werewolf’s name. Stiles. Scott likes Stiles. Scott likes playing with Stiles, running through the woods with him like this. Scott follows Stiles’ scent and Stiles smells happy. 

Scott wants Stiles to always smell this happy.

The wilderness runs on forever out here, and Scott loves it. There are no roads, no cars to watch out for, and all the other werewolves are far, far away at this point. Stiles is just ahead of Scott, his bare back pale in the moonlight as he runs through a clearing before disappearing again into the dark woods. 

Scott loses track of Stiles, unable to hear Stiles’ heartbeat, but maybe that’s because his own is so loud with anticipation. Scott isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, but he’s in the woods, and the moon is full, and Stiles is running with him.

A heavy weight lands on Scott’s back, knocking him into the dirt. Scott’s about to turn, to roar at the attacker and slash at him with deadly claws, when he realizes the weight is Stiles. Stiles is laughing, loud peals of delight ringing through the forest. 

Scott grabs Stiles and rolls them over, pinning Stiles with his hands and knees. Scott huffs out a victorious breath and smirks down at Stiles.

Instead of fighting back, like Scott assumes he will, Stiles tilts his head back, exposing his long, pale neck which practically shines in the moonlight. The sight makes Scott’s blood boil, whispering to Scott that he should mark that neck, he should claim it with teeth and dirt, sully it so no one else will see it. That neck is Scott’s. Stiles is Scott’s, laying so nicely for Scott, his chest bare and warm, and his neck long in submission. 

There’s this nagging feeling that Scott shouldn’t do this, that Scott shouldn’t want this, and that he’s here, in these woods, for some other reason. Scott ignores that feeling and wraps his teeth around Stiles’ neck. 

As Scott presses his teeth down into flesh, barely piercing the skin, Stiles whimpers underneath Scott. Stiles bucks his hips and pulls his arms away from Scott’s hold so hard his muscles flex under Scott’s hands. Scott doesn’t let go. He can’t.

Stiles belongs to Scott.

After another whimper, Scott’s brain screams at him. It doesn’t matter if Stiles is his, Stiles might be in _pain_! Scott gets up, sitting back on his heels and letting go of Stiles’ arms. 

Instead of squirming away again like Scott expects, Stiles huffs and whines in displeasure. He pulls at Scott, making room for Scott’s knees between his thighs and nipping at Scott’s chin and lower lip with his teeth. 

Scott growls, turning those bites into kisses and pressing his hips down against Stiles'. There's fabric in the way, and Scott gets so frustrated that he uses his claws to tear at first his own pants, and then Stiles'. _Werewolves shouldn't wear pants_ , Scott's brain demands, through the fog of _moon_ and _need_.

Skin and fur against skin and fur, Scott sighs at the feeling as he sinks down against the werewolf under him. His wolf. 

Everything after that is a blur of need and mouthing at Stiles' neck and rutting so hard it has to be driving Stiles into the ground. It doesn’t take long for Scott to get off, thrusting against Stiles hard and fast, sweat and precome easing the way. Stiles groans, his nostrils flaring as he bucks up against Scott and comes as well. 

Scott sighs, rubbing his cheek against Stiles’. He growls, “Mine,” and settles in against Stiles, closing his eyes and feeling at peace for the first time since _Allison_. Still shifted, Scott falls asleep between the full moon and his mate.

~*~

It takes Stiles a few moments to figure out what’s going on. It feels like the night after a full moon – that groggy, fuzzy feeling he imagines humans must get when they’re hungover. He’s surrounded by trees, lying in a bed of damp fallen leaves that smell like earth and mildew, and blinking in the morning sun filtering down through the trees.

Stiles is alone.

Sitting up, Stiles realizes that he’s naked. Well, that’s just great. He knows his alter-ego isn’t a big fan of pants, but it’s been years since Stiles has woken up without them.

He catches a whiff of another werewolf and can’t quite tell where the smell is coming from, since he can’t hear any heartbeats nearby. After a moment of confusion, Stiles realizes the smell is coming from his own skin. 

Alright, then.

Stiles is alone in the woods, naked, and he smells like someone else has rubbed all over him.

Now Stiles wishes he could remember what happened the night before, because it must have been fun.

He gets up on his feet, frowning when his hand encounters a crusty patch on his belly, and starts walking in the direction he thinks he came from. He catches his own scent a few yards down what looks like a trampled path through the underbrush, and figures he’s on the right track.

Stiles’ dad would kill him for not paying closer attention to tracking lessons, but he’s not here right now, so Stiles just has to bear the shame all on his lonesome.

It only takes ten minutes of stumbling through the forest before he catches the sound of another human-sized heartbeat. He starts heading in that direction, hoping it’s someone who can tell him what happened. Maybe it’s even the person he was with last night.

Who he finds is a woman that looks vaguely familiar. He knows her name is Ginger, and when he raises his hand to wave at her, he remembers that these woods are outside the La Lune hotel. Stiles is at La Lune, and he’s here to find a mate. 

“Uh, hey,” he says to Ginger, using one hand to cover his privates, though as a fellow werewolf, he doubts she’d mind his nakedness the same way a human would. “Got a little lost last night, I guess.”

Ginger rolls her eyes, says, “Mm-hm,” and takes a pair of boxer shorts out of the pack she’s carrying. “Here you go.”

Stiles takes them, noticing they smell clean, brand-new probably. He steps into them as he says, “Thanks. I guess you tend to get this a lot up here, huh?”

Smiling sweetly, Ginger nods. “The Mating Moon. You’re not the first to get carried away, and you certainly won’t be the last.” She turns and waves for Stiles to follow her. “C’mon. You’re the last one still out here.”

Picking at the crusty spot on his stomach as he follows her, Stiles asks, “So, do you guys have any idea who I spent this Mating Moon with?” 

Ginger gives Stiles a concerned raise of the eyebrow.

“Well, I just figure it’s your job to know who is and isn’t making a love connection, right?” Stiles chuckles nervously, rubbing his stubbled chin with the pad of his thumb. “Man, I haven’t forgotten what happened on a full moon since I was a kid!”

“You must’ve gone deep,” Ginger says, her heartbeat fluttering for a beat and her cheek going pink. “I mean to say, you must’ve given your wolf all your control.”

“Shit,” Stiles says, sticking a finger in his mouth to pick at his teeth. “I sure hope I didn’t eat anyone,” he says around his finger, not finding any hair or bone slivers or anything that could be evidence of having ravaged something – or _someone_.

“No one’s missing, now that we’ve found you,” Ginger replies, showing Stiles onto a path that looks more like something that was put there deliberately. “You know, you weren’t supposed to separate from your pack.”

Stiles wants to argue that they _weren't_ his pack. He’s never been part of a pack that wasn’t led by his father, so Stiles doubts the “pack” they put him with the night before would’ve had any sort of grounding effect on him. As his head clears, he remembers that the only person in the pack that he knew was Malia Hale, and he’s only known her for a few days. Maybe that’s why his wolf got away from him. He didn’t have an alpha he could really look to and use as an anchor.

“Sorry,” Stiles says softly, following behind Ginger until she moves to make them walk side-by-side. “I probably seem like the noobiest noob werewolf, don’t I? I swear, I’m born, not bitten.”

“We’ll just call it extenuating circumstances, I think,” Ginger says, winking at him. 

See? Why can’t the girls who are actually here to find mates be cool, like Ginger? Erica hates Stiles’ guts now, Malia is a little – well, Stiles doesn’t quite _get_ her – and Stiles barely remembers any of the others’ names.

Figuring that if he’s going to have any hope of not embarrassing himself for forgetting the whole night, Stiles decides he’s got to try to figure out who he was with last night before they find him first. While Ginger isn’t looking (or at least is pretending not to look), Stiles holds one arm up to his nose and takes a good, long sniff. He smells himself – duh – but the only other werewolf Stiles can scent on his skin is Scott. Weird. Scott must’ve grabbed Stiles by the wrist at some point the day before. That sounds right. 

If another wolf’s scent is on Stiles, he can’t recognize it. Shit. Whoever she was is probably going to break his nose like Erica did. Or worse. Maybe Stiles should just call this trip a failure and beg to be driven down out of the mountains early.

As they walk the rest of the day, Ginger chit-chats with him about the upcoming planned events, including the “dance” that night. Stiles can’t think of a place he’d like to be any less than he wants to be at that dance. The only thing that has Stiles considering going is Ginger saying, “You know, one of my cousins married a woman from the Stilinski pack. I’m sure your alpha will love to hear what a good time you’re having.”

Stiles gives Ginger a polite nod, but makes a face at her back. He’s sure that means if he doesn’t go to this “dance,” his father is going to hear about it. Stiles thinks it’s about time to let go of the daydream of growing out of his father’s interference in his life. It didn’t happen when he turned 18, and it’s not happening now.

Stiles gets back to the hotel and goes up to his room, showers off and gets dressed, laments his missing clothes from the night before, and goes back down to the lobby for the “post-moon luncheon.” He’s not sure his stomach is up for a “luncheon” until it grumbles at the first waft of food smell. 

Stiles fills his plate at the buffet, and sees Scott across the room, talking to that big guy, Boyd. There’s an empty seat next to Scott, so Stiles starts heading there. Before he can make it, one of the organizers – this one’s an older woman named Phyllis, according to her name badge – heads Stiles off. 

Pointing to a chair, she says, “Why don’t you sit down, dear. I’m sure you and Ms. Hale will want to talk about last night’s pack run!”

Malia smiles up at Stiles from the next chair over, her mouth full of meat from the turkey leg in her hand. God help him, Stiles finds it kind of cute. 

Wait, what does Phyllis mean by he and Malia “will want to talk”? Is _she_ the one Stiles was with last night? Oh, god. What if it was? Is she expecting him to be her mate now?

The sad thing is, Stiles’ dad will probably be thrilled. An alliance with the Hale pack? Talia Hale is known to be uniquely powerful. If her niece is similarly gifted, Stiles’ and Malia’s kids could be like super-werewolves. 

Stiles has to admit he doesn’t mind that idea. 

Plus, if he mated into the Hale pack, he’d probably get to hang out with Scott pretty often. That would be pretty cool.

Taking the chair offered, Stiles nods at Malia. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replies, watching Phyllis walk away before she turns her attention back to Stiles. “Where’d you disappear off to last night?”

Halfway to picking up his water glass, Stiles pauses. Did he run off after having sex and pass out somewhere else in the woods? That doesn’t really sound like Stiles. He knows he tends to get over-invested. He’d be more likely to follow Malia around the woods until he passed out.

Shit, Stiles can’t assume anything, can he? He puts his hand back on the edge of the table and asks Malia, “What do you mean?”

Shrugging, Malia takes a bite out of what looks like a piece of yellow cake. “We’d just barely started our run and some other werewolf came out of nowhere to chase you through the woods.”

Some other werewolf. Stiles sighs in relief. Oh, good. He didn’t forget being with Malia. Of course, that means he doesn’t remember who he was with. “Some other werewolf?” he asks, taking a little bite of his food, to appease his tumbling stomach. “You wouldn’t happen to know her name, would you?”

With a shake of her head, Malia says, “Nope. Though I’m pretty sure it was a him.”

“A _him_?” Stiles squeaks, practically choking on his food. He looks around the room at all the men in the room. Oh, for the love of Mother Earth, he hopes it wasn’t Old Jed. “Are you sure?”

“Why do you smell embarrassed?” Malia asks bluntly. “What did you do?”

Hissing in a low voice and hoping no one’s listening in (not even that Ray guy sitting across the table from them), Stiles says, “I don’t remember!”

“Oh, you were in deep,” Malia says, but unlike Ginger, she doesn’t give any indication she noticed the double entendre. “Don’t you know about having an anchor?”

“Of course I know about it,” Stiles cries, smiling and nodding when Ray gives him a funny look. “I just had an off night, okay?”

Malia shrugs and goes back to eating. The way she tears into the meat of her turkey leg reminds Stiles more of a wild animal than a human being. He gives her a fond smile and tucks into his food. 

While he’s working on the giant pile of mashed potatoes that he scooped for himself, Stiles catches Scott looking at him. Before Stiles can wave or smile or anything, Scott looks away. 

What the actual fuck? Stiles thought he and Scott were friends. Homies. Amigos. 

Scott doesn’t even go back to his meal. He says something quickly to Boyd and the other occupants of his table, and then he leaves the restaurant altogether.

When Stiles turns back, he sees Malia’s eyes still on the restaurant door. She asks Stiles, “You two have a fight?”

“No,” Stiles replies quickly. Scott is Malia’s packmate and Stiles is sure she’d pick Scott’s side over Stiles’. Not that there are sides. Because there was no fight. “Not that I remember, anyway.”

Malia raises one eyebrow at Stiles for a breath or two, and then goes back to her meal. Stiles picks at his, wondering how long it’s polite to let a guy run away before you go after him demanding answers.

~*~

As Scott escapes the restaurant, he feels like he can hardly breathe. He woke up that morning curled around _Stiles_. Now Scott can barely look at Stiles without feeling like he might throw up. It’s not that Scott doesn’t like Stiles, or doesn’t like what they did the night before, it’s the fact that Scott _shouldn’t_ be feeling what he’s feeling.

Scott crashes through the door to his room and slams it shut behind him, locking it and pressing his back against the sturdy wood. When that doesn’t quell the roiling in his stomach and the tightness in his lungs, Scott leans forward. With his head between his knees, Scott’s breathing starts to slow, though it does little for his stomach. 

His first instinct is to call his mother. She’s a nurse, she’ll know what to do.

Then it occurs to Scott that she’s human. She’s never had to deal with the werewolf instincts around choosing a mate, except as she experienced them when Scott’s dad chose her. Even though she’s been part of werewolf packs since then, Scott is sure she won’t know what to do about _this_.

Scott’s second instinct is to call his alpha, but he doesn’t think he could take the disappointment in her voice. Talia accepted Scott into her pack under the impression that he would eventually have werewolf children who would need a pack. She accepted Scott under the impression that he would help her build her pack back up to the glorious thing it used to be. If Scott’s wolf wants Stiles, and only Stiles, there’s no way he can do that for her.

He’s going to let her down.

Hands shaking, Scott pulls his phone out of his pocket and slides down to sit on the floor. There’s one more person Scott trusts to talk him through this. He takes a deep breath and dials Derek.

Derek answers after the third ring, saying, “What’s going on? Is everyone okay?” The panic in his voice is palpable and Scott feels horrible for bringing on that panic. It’s only been in the last few years that Derek’s started to calm down after the fire that killed most of his pack. 

“Everyone’s fine,” Scott says quickly, leaning his temple on his free hand and resting that elbow on his knee. “I just–” Scott sighs. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, letting out his own breath. “I’m driving home from work.”

Scott pictures Derek in his stupid SUV, driving the route through Beacon Hills from the local WRO office (and supernatural bookshop) where he works to his cottage on the Hale pack compound. “Can you talk?”

“Things going that well, huh?” Derek pauses for a moment. “Okay, talk.”

Scott takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I found a mate.”

Chuckling, Derek asks, “Why do you sound like that’s a bad thing? Is she interested in someone else?”

“No,” Scott insists, huffing. Derek is so bad at guessing what Scott is trying to say. He always has been. It’s the reason they’ve butted heads so much since Scott joined the pack. Well, that and Derek’s need to big-brother Scott when he realized he couldn’t do it to Cora. 

The problem is that Scott isn’t sure where to start. How is he supposed to explain what’s going on when he doesn’t even understand how it happened? “Look, it was the full moon, okay? I didn’t mean for–”

“Did you hurt someone?” Derek’s voice turns tight and concerned.

“Only emotionally,” Scott replies. “Maybe? I don’t know. I can’t believe I _did that_!”

“Did _what_?” The rustling of Derek’s jacket makes Scott picture him shifting in his seat anxiously. “Scott, what did you do?”

“I’m pretty sure I claimed a mate,” Scott tells Derek, more because he doesn’t want Derek to freak out than he wants to admit it. “His name is Stiles. I haven’t talked to him since it happened.”

“His name,” Derek says softly. “Oh.”

Scott snorts. “Yeah.”

After a long moment of silence, Derek says, “It’s not that bad.”

“Why do you sound like you’re talking about a funeral?” Scott sighs, running his hand back through his hair. “ _’It’s not that bad_? What am I supposed to do with that, Derek?”

Derek makes this annoyed groan and Scott can picture the expression that goes along with it. “Calm down, first of all. This isn’t the end of the world.”

“Uh-huh.” Scott doesn’t quite believe the sentiment, and he’s not sure Derek believes it either.

“He’s not your mate unless both of you want to be mated to each other. You can choose to rescind your claim.”

Scott stares at the far end of the room for a long moment before asking, “Could you have taken back your claim after you and Braeden were mated?”

That shuts Derek up for a long moment. “If she’d changed her mind, if she didn’t want me, I would have had to.”

“Would you have wanted to look at anyone else after that?” Scott thinks over all of the women he’s met over the last week and _none_ of them seem as interesting or as appealing to him as Stiles. 

“No.” Derek chuckles, some of the tension easing from his voice. “No, I guess I wouldn’t have.”

Scott nods to himself, pulling on his hair to ground his thoughts in the present and not in the myriad of what-ifs running through his mind. The image that pops into Scott’s brain in the absence of those worries is Stiles, leaning back against the bathroom counter, baring his throat to Scott. It’s an image Scott can’t forget, and one that he doesn’t _want_ to forget, because he’s sure it wasn’t just an act of submission. It was a declaration of intent. It had to be. “What do I do if he wants me back?”

“Bring him home.”

“Just like that?” Scott demands in disbelief. “Just _bring him home_? Talia will kill me.”

Derek scoffs. “She won’t kill you.”

“She’ll throw me out of the pack."

Derek scoffs again, louder this time. “She won’t throw you out of the pack.”

"But how do you know that for sure? My old alpha would have." Scott winces, because his old alpha is also his great aunt, but he and Mom had to cut ties with that side of the family when Scott's dad started getting rough with both of them and their alpha did nothing to stop it. 

"Mom isn't your old alpha." Derek sounds so sure of himself as he says this. Scott wants to believe Derek, he really, really does. Scott's just not sure he can.

“Derek.” Scott uses just the tone of voice he knows will make Derek talk.

“I won’t let her do that, okay?” Derek huffs, like it’s the hardest thing in the world to admit he’d do something nice for Scott. “I don’t want to be part of a pack that would do that to one of its members.”

Remembering something Derek said to him when he first got used to Scott being part of the pack, Scott says, “Because we’re brothers now?”

Derek chuckles, a bright huff of breath that hisses against his phone’s mic. “Exactly. We’re brothers. For better or worse.”

Scott’s stomach lurches downward. “You think this is on the worse end?”

“No,” Derek says, his voice wry this time, in a way that makes Scott chuckle. “No, this is nothing, Scott. I promise.”

They say their goodbyes and Scott hangs up, still unsure of what he’s going to do. Will Scott let his wolf side make all his decisions, when he could just man up and make the decision to seek a different mate? After all, he’s found Stiles after breaking up with Allison. How’s Scott to know that he won’t fall in love with a woman next time? How’s Scott to know that wouldn’t be better in the long run?

Scott just can’t stand the thought of disappointing Talia Hale.

~*~

Stiles spends the majority of the day second guessing himself and wondering what's going on with Scott. He doesn't think he's gone this long without talking to Scott since the retreat began, and it's starting to weigh on him. Does Scott know what happened the night before? Stiles thinks about the moment they had in the bathroom after Erica punched him. It was an intense moment, and Stiles hasn't thought much about it in the interest of keeping himself from being confused. 

Did Scott think that moment meant something between them? _Did_ it mean something between them? Does Stiles _want_ it to mean something between them?

Maybe he does. That wouldn't be so bad, right? Jackson's best friend, Danny, is gay. Everyone loves Danny. Now, Stiles is under no illusions that should he find himself with a mate who's a dude that everyone who hates him would suddenly love him. Still, he's certain that everyone who's opinion Stiles cares about wouldn't mind if Stiles got together with a guy like Scott. Scott is awesome, and it's not like the "experts" here at La Lune are doing a better job of finding someone else for Stiles. He's just not _compatible_ with anyone else. 

Except for the mystery wolf he spent the night with. Shit. What if Scott's jealous of Mystery Wolf? What if Scott's jealous of Stiles for getting with Mystery Wolf, because Scott wants to be mates with Mystery Wolf?

See? This is why, in general, Stiles doesn't have many (any) friends outside the pack. They come with too much drama. Within the pack, the alpha shuts down any drama before it starts. Or shortly after it starts if he's been particularly busy with work. Stiles knows he's the heir apparent to the pack, but honestly, he doesn't want to be the alpha. He doesn't think he's capable of finding the drama before it starts like his dad is. He's not that kind of guy.

Offhand, Stiles thinks Scott would make a good alpha. Stiles would say Scott is too _nice_ to be an effective alpha, but Stiles has seen the way Scott talks about his estranged father. That kind of ice-cold, calculating rage and moral superiority is perfect for an alpha to have. 

Stiles thinks it's probably why he bared his neck to Scott. That close to the full moon, without his normal alpha as an anchor, Stiles' wolf found the next best thing. 

So restless he can't even sit down, much less think about getting ready for that night's "dance" Stiles figures something's got to give. He's got to do something. Scott might be a potential alpha, but that doesn't mean Stiles has to wait for Scott to be the one to act first. 

Full of his new purpose, Stiles strides out of his room, slams the door shut behind him, and practically runs down the hall to Scott's door. He catches the faint sound of Scott's heartbeat just before he starts pounding on the door. 

Footsteps hurry over and the door opens, eyes going wide as he sees Stiles.

“Hey, dude,” Stiles says, pushing his way into the room before Scott can react fast enough to stop him. “How’s it going? Haven’t talked to you all day!”

“Uh, yeah.” Scott rubs at the back of his neck with one hand, following Stiles into the room without closing the door. “Sorry about that. I’ve been busy.”

Stiles hears the lie in Scott’s heartbeat, so he puts a wide, friendly grin on his face. “Oh, yeah? With what? Bonding with your pack from last night?”

Scott furrows his brows. “Not … really?”

“’Cause I noticed you’ve been busy avoiding me.” Stiles stares at Scott, neither of them looking away. “So, what’s up with that?”

Scott doesn’t say anything, but when Stiles tries lifting his chin, exposing his neck, Scott’s eyes go wide and then finally he looks away. A scent flares through the room, rife with an emotion Stiles thinks is arousal. Scott’s heartbeat kicks up a notch and his cheeks go ruddy. 

The scent knocks loose a memory from the depths of Stiles’ brain. Stiles remembers seeing Scott above him, his vision tinted red. Scott’s bright, hot, pressing into Stiles heavy, and smiling.

Scott doesn’t close the distance between them like he did before, so Stiles lowers his chin. He catches Scott’s gaze again and demands, “What happened last night, Scott?”

Scott hesitates, looking to the side before he says, “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

“Really?” Stiles laughs in disbelief. “Because I’m starting to remember bits and pieces, and we both know I’m going to put those pieces together whether you tell me what happened or not.”

“We ran together,” Scott says, though he’s holding his breath, which makes Stiles think he’s holding back the rest of the story. “We rough housed. I don’t know. It was the full moon.”

Stiles scoffs. He’s pretty sure he didn’t wake up naked and covered in come because of a little rough housing. No, at this point he’s convinced that Mystery Wolf is Scott, which means Scott had sex with Stiles and is denying it now. “Yeah, okay,” Stiles replies meanly, taking a step closer to Scott, and then another. The scent of Scott’s arousal spikes through the room again, and this disconnect between what Scott’s saying and what his body is doing makes Stiles want to sandwich himself in between the two. “We rough housed. Sure.”

“We _did_!” Scott doesn’t concede any ground to Stiles, letting Stiles approach him until they’re almost nose-to-nose. “Look, it’s better if–”

Having no interest in whatever Scott thinks is “better” to suit his precious ego or whatever, Stiles closes the distance between them. He presses his lips to Scott’s, just shy of brutally. He half expects Scott to back away, to push Stiles away, to tell Stiles that no way in hell is he good enough on a night that isn’t the full moon. 

Scott doesn’t do any of those things. He takes a surprised breath through his nose, and then closes his eyes, kissing Stiles back. Scott wraps his arms around Stiles’ shoulders and pulls him in closer, a lead Stiles is happy to take.

As he kisses Scott, Stiles gets more of his memories from the night before back. He remembers kissing Scott before, biting at each other’s mouths and breathing the same damp forest air back and forth. Stiles remembers running with the intense purpose of getting Scott to chase him. He remembers slowing down enough to let Scott catch him.

Stiles remembers rubbing off against Scott, and the way Scott’s skin felt against Stiles’, all hot and electric. Stiles wants more of that. Fuck, he wants _more_. He wants to feel what it’s like to let Scott take everything Stiles has. He wants as much as Scott will give him.

Suddenly, it seems imperative to tell this to Scott, so Stiles pulls back, gasping to catch his breath. When he finally has enough air to speak, Stiles groans against Scott’s lips. “I want you. I _want_ you.”

“Yeah,” Scott says on a rush of breath, his hands tracing downward from Stiles’ shoulders to his waist. 

Shuddering, Stiles kisses Scott again, frustrated that he can’t kiss Scott at the same time he’s telling Scott to get his damn hands on Stiles’ skin already. Stiles groans into the kiss, moving his own hands down to the – really utterly fantastic – globes of Scott’s ass. Stiles pulls Scott as close as he can manage without losing his balance, groaning again.

Scott whines low in his throat, finally sliding his fingers up the back of Stiles’ shirt. “Stiles.”

Stiles swallows his own name on Scott’s tongue, giddy with the thrill of wondering just how far Scott will want this to go. 

Finding the bed just behind him, Stiles falls back on it, his knees and one hand still on Scott, his weight resting on the other elbow. Watching Scott, Stiles tilts his chin up, exposing his neck and watching as Scott’s eyes turn even darker and then flash brilliant yellow, or maybe even orange. Stiles’ cock jumps in his boxers, demanding attention.

Instead, Stiles stares at Scott, watching Scott look at Stiles like he’s about to be devoured. Stiles _wants_ it, feels overwhelmed with the power of how much he wants it, how vividly he imagines letting Scott sink his teeth into the thin flesh over his jugular. “ _Scott_ ,” he groans, squeezing the outsides of Scott’s thighs with his knees.

Scott takes half a step closer to the bed, but a knock at the open door makes him jump back, breaking contact with Stiles altogether. Sighing, Stiles looks over and sees Erica with her hand still up to the door, a wide grin on her lips. Behind her, Boyd stands, his usual impassivity erased by how high his eyebrows have migrated on his forehead. 

Sitting up, Stiles watches Scott’s face during the long moment where no one says anything. There’s this impressive progression of emotions on Scott’s face, from surprise to shame to horror. Everything past surprise makes Stiles feel like he’s going to throw up. The drop from giddy excitement to flat-out rejection when he realizes Scott’s ashamed of him, makes Stiles’ head spin. 

The silence is broken when Phyllis, one of the La Lune coordinators joins Boyd and Erica at the door, smiling. “Is everyone ready for the dance? We’ve got an _excellent_ DJ this year!”

Erica and Boyd look at each other, and when Stiles turns back to Scott, Scott gives him this look that’s full of regret. Before Stiles can talk him out of whatever shame spiral he’s found himself in, Scott just straight-up leaves. He brushes past the people at the door and abandons Stiles. 

It reminds Stiles of waking up naked on the forest floor, alone, and that thought just pisses him right off. “Yeah?” Stiles calls after Scott, standing up and running to the door to shout down the hallway. “Well, fuck you, too!”

Phyllis gasps. “ _Language_ , Mr. Stilinski!”

Ignoring her, Stiles turns to Erica. “Sorry about what I said the other day. Let me buy you a drink? I hear there’s a party going on.”

Erica cuts her eyes over at Boyd, like Stiles is expecting her to. It’s obvious that if they’re not mates already, they’re damn close. It’s probably suicide trying to get between them, but Stiles doesn’t care. He needs the distraction. 

Instead of turning him down, Erica gives Boyd her evil smile and loops her arm through Stiles’. “Sure! I’d love to.”

Boyd grumbles and as they pass, Erica gives Phyllis a sly wink. If Stiles were in a better mood, the move would’ve made him laugh. As it is he can barely muster up a chuckle for her. They get on the elevator, just the two of them, and when the doors close, Erica pulls Stiles’ head down against her chest and pets his hair. “There, there. It’ll be okay.”

“This show of almost maternal concern is frightening me,” Stiles admits, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he breathes in the scent of her and uses it to clear his nose of Scott.

“I know, right?” Erica keeps petting him, but not with much gentleness or grace. It’s more like the way a toddler pets a very frightened cat. “But, it’s the least I can do.”

Confused, Stiles picks up his head to look at her. He’s sort-of known Erica for more than a few years, and this is nothing like he’d expect from her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Boyd saw me punch you,” Erica replies. “Says it impressed him.”

“I get the feeling he doesn’t get impressed easily, does he?” Stiles rubs at his hair where Erica pet it, trying to make sure it’s back in place.

“Not easily, no.” Erica licks her fingers and uses them to slick down a patch of Stiles’ hair.

Stiles waves her away, but chuckles as he does it. “At least it worked out well for one of us?”

Giving a decisive nod, Erica says, “Let’s get you good and drunk. Best remedy for a broken heart there is.”

It doesn’t occur to Stiles that his heart is anything like broken until Erica says it out loud. “Fuck,” he sighs, leaning his head against her shoulder, even though they’re walking away from the elevator. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Maybe find you someone else?” Erica raises one eyebrow at Stiles, which makes him chuckle.

He’s still reeling from Scott’s rejection. There’s no way he can think about anyone else in a relationship frame of mind any time soon. “One step at a time.”

~*~

Scott wipes a hot tear from his face, wishing he hadn't heard the things Stiles shouted after him as he ran. Scott wishes he hadn't ran, but now that he's away, out of the same room as Stiles, he can think more clearly.

Thinking clearly, Scott feels his stomach sink with the certainty that he’s made a horrible mistake. 

Still, Scott doesn’t stop himself from running further and further away from the La Lune retreat, losing himself in the woods and the just-past-full moon. He shifts, to better see through the forest as the tree branches whip past him, scratching at his face and grabbing at his arms.

Eventually, Scott notices another figure, running in parallel to him. He turns away from it, but it follows, keeping a careful distance away from Scott, but not losing track of him either. When Scott comes out of the woods at the edge of a cliff, he stops short, throwing his weight back and digging his claws into a tree to help stop his momentum.

The figure breaks the tree line beside Scott much more sedately, and Scott sees that it’s not a wolf like he assumed. It’s a coyote, and it’s looking at him with bright blue eyes. “Malia,” Scott says, nodding through his instinct to shudder at the color of her eyes. Scott knows they’re that color because Malia blames herself for the car crash that killed her mother, not because she’d willfully taken a life. Still, Scott has grown up hearing stories about blue-eyed wolves, and those prejudices are hard to shake, as much as he wants to do it.

Sighing, Malia sits down next to Scott, looking at the dark ravine below them. The headlights of a car wind through the forest, and Scott assumes there must be a road down there somewhere. The rest of the world is quiet, and still. Even beside Scott, Malia stands very still, the only indications she’s alive the slight twitch in her tail and the expanding of her ribcage as she breathes.

Scott wishes he could be like her, and like some of the other Hales, and be able to shift all the way into an animal. Then maybe he could really run away from all this La Lune shit. He could live in the woods, eat rabbits and deer when he gets hungry, and never have to talk to another person, ever again. It sounds perfect, which is how Scott knows it will never, ever happen. Still, it would be nice to spend just an hour in a different skin, but one that still felt like home. Maybe Scott will ask Talia if she can teach him how to do it – provided of course, that Scott either comes home with a mate who doesn’t embarrass her pack, or comes home single. “You didn’t need to come after me,” Scott says, settling down next to her, far enough from the ledge of the cliff that he doesn’t get dizzy at the thought of slipping and going over the edge. “I’m fine.”

Between one breath and the next, Malia shifts from her full-coyote form into human form. “Yeah, sure,” Malia says, scoffing. The moonlight making the recesses of her face eerily dark, Malia raises an eyebrow at Scott. “You smell like you’ve been crying.”

Rubbing at his eye, Scott says, “Allergies,” but they both know werewolves are only allergic to wolfsbane.

They sit together for several minutes silently watching the ravine below, and Scott can feel the way his heartbeat slows down, matching itself to Malia’s calm rhythm. She feels and smells like pack, and Scott starts to feel less like the sky is falling down onto his head. Eventually, Malia asks, “So why don’t you like Stiles? He’s nice.”

Scott stares at her for a moment, unsure what she’s getting at. He wraps his arms around himself and says, “If he’s that nice, why don’t you make him your mate?”

Malia turns back to Scott, squinting her eyes at him, like she’s trying to see directly into his brain or something. Scott thinks she should be happy enough with being able to scent his emotions, she doesn’t need to read his brain, too. Prickling under the scrutiny, Scott demands, “What?”

Malia shrugs as she looks away again. Picking at her big toenail, she says, “I think I might try dating that Isaac guy.”

“Isaac?” Scott pictures the tall boy with the blonde hair. He thinks Stiles said that Isaac and Erica were from the same pack. Scott has maybe exchanged terse greetings with Isaac once or twice, but Scott sees how Malia would like him. 

Scott imagines Malia’s and Isaac’s scents would blend together nicely. He starts to wonder what he and Stiles smell like together, when he realizes he doesn’t have to guess. Stiles' scent is all over Scott. 

“Yeah.” Malia sits up straighter, hands on her knees. “If it works out and we become mates, we’ll have really attractive children.”

“Okaaay,” Scott says, drawing out the last syllable as he tries to get a read on where Malia is going with her train of thought. “Good for you?”

Malia smiles at Scott, her canines glinting bright in the moonlight. “And they’ll be Hales, which Aunt Talia will like. Sort of gets you off the hook.”

Furrowing his brow, Scott has to really think about the implications of what Malia’s saying before he gets it. “You think I should be with Stiles.”

“If he makes you happy,” Malia says in agreement. “Besides, I think he’d make a great addition to the pack. Derek is going to hate him.”

Scott laughs, imagining introducing Stiles and Derek to one another. He laughs again. As his laughter dies down, it hits Scott again that it’s very possible he’s missed his shot with Stiles. “He’s mad at me,” Scott admits to Malia. “And, assuming I can convince him to forgive me, what if Talia hates him?”

“Talia hated Braeden, didn’t she?” Malia shrugs, knocking her shoulder into Scott’s. “But she didn’t try to tell Derek he couldn’t be Braeden’s mate.”

Nodding, Scott has to admit, “That’s true.” He remembers how tense the pack was for the first few weeks after Derek came home from La Lune with Braeden in tow. Eventually, Braeden and Talia both got over their issues and came to a friendly agreement about how to coexist.

It’s possible Talia could do the same sort of thing with Stiles. 

“How long have we been out here?” Scott asks, looking back over his shoulder into the forest. “Do you think the dance is still happening?”

Malia throws her arms wide open, exposing her naked torso. “Does it look like I’m wearing a watch? Or have a pocket for my phone?”

Scott rolls his eyes, suddenly glad he doesn’t full-shift like Malia. Grinning at her, Scott says, “I’ll race you back to the hotel?”

Malia grins and leaps to her feet. “Let’s do it.”

~*~

Stiles is halfway through knocking back his third drink of the night, when Ginger takes it out of his hands. “That’s about enough of that.”

“What the hell?” Stiles complains, knowing that as much as he wants to, he shouldn’t try to wrestle the drink away from another werewolf. That would just end in misery and embarrassment. “What’s your problem?”

Ginger gives Stiles a look that’s practically louder than the dance music drilling itself into Stiles’ ears. Eventually, she says, “If you weren’t going to come to La Lune ready to fully participate, you shouldn’t have come. It’s a waste of time for everyone.”

“Hey, I’ve _been_ participating.” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and glares back at Ginger. “I did all the pottery and the dinner dates and the icebreakers. It’s not my fault you suck at your job.”

For a second, Stiles is sure he’s about to get punched in the nose again. Instead, Ginger gives Stiles this creepy smile. “You are going to go over there and talk to that woman. Her name is Shelly. You are going to introduce yourself, and you are going to ask her to dance.”

Stiles wants to argue the point, but he realizes he _is_ here to try to forget about Scott. Scott doesn’t want Stiles, and doesn’t want to be with him. Stiles is supposed to be trying to accept that and move on. He asks Ginger, “Does she like movies?”

Grin turning softer, Ginger says, “Her favorite movie is _Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing_.” 

Stiles’ stomach drops, because _Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing_ is one of Stiles’ favorite movies of all time. If this girl likes it, she can’t be all bad. Maybe she’d be an even better match for Stiles than Scott. “What’s her name, again?” he asks Ginger.

“Shelly,” she says with a triumphant look. Taking Stiles by the shoulders, Ginger pushes him in Shelly’s direction.

Stiles gets about halfway there before he starts freaking out. If he goes over there, and he does find out Shelly is a better match for him than Scott, then that’s that. Stiles’ future is decided. He’ll have a mate, and 2.5 kids and a career and everything. Done.

Before he makes it another step, someone grabs Stiles by the elbow and pulls him out of the ballroom. Only halfway to the door does Stiles realize it’s Jackson and not Scott. Outside, in the cooler, quieter air, Stiles pulls his arm away from Jackson’s grasp. “What are you doing?”

“You smelled like you were about to go full nuclear,” Jackson says, rolling his eyes. “I figured I’d save the alpha the trouble of having to drive all the way up here to arrest his son for mass murder.”

“I wasn’t–” Stiles sighs roughly, turning away from Jackson and taking a few steps. His control does feel like it’s a paper-thin surface over a boiling vat of wolfitude, ready to burst over the edges. “I don’t know about _mass_ murder. I might murder you.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” Jackson says with a snort.

Stiles contemplates shifting and beating the snot out of Jackson. While it’s true Stiles has been a werewolf much longer than Jackson has, Stiles also knows that Jackson is, like, obsessive about building up his new strength. At this point, Stiles doubts the fight would go in his favor. “Why are you such an asshole?”

Jackson smirks and shrugs one shoulder. “Runs in the family, I guess.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Stiles shoots back. As the words leave his mouth, they remind Stiles of what he yelled after Scott when Scott got spooked and ran. He thinks about the consequences his words could have and it makes him dizzy with regret. “Fuck me. Fuck everything.”

“There’s the spirit!” Jackson cheerfully claps Stiles on the shoulder. “And I just want to thank you.”

“For what?” Stiles asks, ducking out of Jackson’s hold. Instantly he distrusts the mean smirk on Jackson’s lips.

Jackson sticks his hands in his pants pockets and says, “For going gay. Now I don’t have to worry about you going after my sloppy seconds.”

Groaning, Stiles presses a hand to his forehead. “You are so embarrassing and unnecessary.”

“You’re the one sucking dick.” Jackson raises one eyebrow.

Stiles punches Jackson’s arm, pulling the punch so it doesn’t actually hurt either of them. “ _You’re_ a dick.” Though, Stiles has to admit, the thought of sucking _Scott’s_ dick actually sounds really appealing. It’s too bad he’ll never get a chance to do it. “Scott’s not my mate. I’m … still on the market or whatever.”

“Plenty of wolves in the forest,” Jackson says, like it’s something people actually say on a regular basis. 

It occurs to Stiles that he’s been so focused on Scott for the past week, he hasn’t kept track of what Jackson’s been doing, or who he’s been doing it with. “How’s the forest lookin’ for you, Jackson? Pretty empty?”

“Pssh,” Jackson scoffs, rolling his eyes again. “I’m getting close to, like, three of those chicks.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles grins at his cousin, sure he just heard a lie in Jackson’s heartbeat. “Which ones?”

“Georgia Lane,” Jackson says, and Stiles shrinks a little, because he could see how Georgia might be interested in Jackson. “Erica Reyes,” Jackson adds, which Stiles scoffs at. Yeah right. “And Malia Hale.”

“Malia?” Stiles knows he doesn’t quite click with Malia, but he still feels sort of possessive of her.

Jackson nods. “Yeah, of the Hale pack. Did you know she’s actually a werecoyote? How cool is that?”

“Not cool,” Stiles insists. “In fact, it sucks. You should totally go for Georgia.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Jackson takes a long look at Stiles before reaching out and clapping Stiles on the shoulder again. “You good?”

Surprisingly, Stiles feels a lot calmer than he did before his talk with Jackson. This is a horrible portent of things to come, isn’t it? Jackson actually being a decent person? What’s next? Some sort of apocalypse?

Nodding, Stiles replies, “Yeah. I’m fine.” For good measure, he adds, “No thanks to you.”

Jackson gives Stiles a little shove and then heads back for the party. Once Stiles has his balance back, he follows, making a promise to himself that he’s actually going to talk to Shelly. It doesn’t have to mean anything, but he can’t let himself get caught up on a guy who doesn’t want him.

It’s the healthy thing to do.

~*~

When they get back to the hotel, Scott waves goodbye to Malia and gives her some privacy to change back and put on the clothes she’s left at the edge of the forest. Taking a deep breath, he opens the door of the hotel and walks in. The lobby is empty, but he can hear the music coming from down one of the hallways. The signage says the ballroom is that way, and Scott assumes it must be the post-full-moon dance. 

Scott walks through the lobby and to the elevators as quickly as he possibly can. He doesn’t want to run into anyone until he’s dressed in more than his pants. He really doesn’t want to run into Stiles until he’s ready for it. Scott needs to prepare himself for the very real possibility that Stiles won’t want to see him, that Stiles will need some time after Scott did the stupid thing and ran away.

Scott vows to be good about letting Stiles have space if he says he needs space. Just because Stiles was on Scott’s bed, writhing and reeking of arousal just a few hours earlier, doesn’t mean Scott’s entitled to him. Scott’s seen far too much of that in the men his mother has dated since she and his father divorced. Scott wants to be a good man. Someone his alpha would be proud of. Someone Stiles would be proud of.

To that end, Scott cleans up as best he can in a short amount of time. He showers to get rid of the forest smells, dries off, does his hair as quickly as is necessary, and decides to forgo shaving until later. Right now he just has to put on the best clothes he brought with him (a suit that Talia had urged him to bring, and which got wrinkled in his duffle bag during the drive up), and get down to the dance before it’s over.

Scott breathes calmly and coolly as he rides the elevator back down to the first floor. He feels almost like he’s in a trance as he walks toward the ballroom, his feet doing the decision making, while his brain gets ready for what’s about to come.

Scott pushes the doors open and blinks at the glittering lights. The music is moderately loud, but not overwhelming, and the room is full of people. It seems like everyone who came to La Lune on one of the three buses that made the journey, is in the ballroom right now. The faces are moderately familiar at this point, but the ones Scott sees first belong to the older group of wolves, so Scott doesn’t know any of their names.

He nods his way past them, intent on talking to only one of the wolves here tonight. Scott would worry that Stiles isn’t here, but Scott can smell Stiles’ scent lingering in the air. He swears he can hear the beating of Stiles’ heart, over the hundred other hearts in the room and the pounding dance music. 

Scott follows the thump-thump of Stiles’ heart, his own heart beating uncontrollably in anticipation. Scott feels drawn toward Stiles, like he’s not even making the decisions anymore. He _needs_ to see Stiles more than he needs air to breathe. 

Suddenly, a couple dancing move out of Scott’s way and he sees Stiles. _Stiles_.

Stiles stands next to a woman – Scott thinks he’s met her before, that her name is Shelby or something like that – and he’s talking to her. Stiles’ big hands move animatedly as he talks, and Scott feels them again, squeezing at Scott’s hips and sides, running up through Scott’s hair.

When Scott finally turns his attention toward Maybe-Shelby, he finds himself unreasonably upset at how big her smile is. She seems intensely invested in her conversation with Stiles. She seems like she appreciates Stiles almost as much as Scott does. She seems like a _threat_.

Scott clenches his fists, digging his claws into his palms. The pain helps to ground him and prevent him from losing control of his transformation. Two breaths later, he’s back to being himself, but with slightly bloodier palms.

No. Scott can’t let this be. He has to make Stiles aware of how much Scott knows he screwed up and how hard Scott is willing to work to make Stiles his. Scott can’t give up because Stiles is having a nice conversation with someone else. Scott won’t do it. 

Half a step into his trek across the rest of the dance floor to reach Stiles, Oscar steps in front of Scott, a broad smile on his face. “Hi, there, Mr. McCall!”

“Hi,” Scott says, trying to look around Oscar, but failing when Oscar moves to keep Scott’s gaze. “Can I do something for you?”

“Yes, in fact!” Oscar takes Scott’s elbow and leads him toward a different section of the dance floor. Behind Scott he hears Stiles and Shelby laughing together. “We’ve been working our magic, trying to figure out who would suit you best as your mate. We think maybe we’ve gotten a closer guess. We’d like you to spend some time here at the dance with Tara.”

Oscar gestures to a woman who’s tall, and pleasant enough looking, but Scott doesn’t really have the time to deal with this. He has to make his feelings clear to Stiles before Stiles does something like pick a new mate. “Sorry,” Scott tells Oscar. “I really am sorry, but I know who my mate is.”

Without letting Oscar stop him, Scott crosses back over the dance floor and heads straight for Stiles. Stiles sees him coming, because he stops mid-sentence and watches Scott’s approach. Scott can’t quite read the expression on Stiles’ face, so he slows down, stopping about fifteen feet away from Stiles. He doesn’t know what else to do, so Scott gives Stiles a tentative wave.

A slow smile spreads steadily across stiles’ face. Scott lets out the breath he’d been holding, so relieved he feels like he’s walking on air when he takes those last few steps to get to Stiles’ side. “Excuse me,” he says to Shelby, or whatever her name is. Scott turns to Stiles and, screwing up as much courage as he possibly can, holds out his hand. “Would you dance with me?”

~*~

Stiles tries to find himself attracted to Shelly. He really does. She’s really nice and funny and Stiles thinks that maybe in another life, he might actually want to get to know her better. Still, it’s not the instant attraction Stiles had for Scott, even if he didn’t recognize his feelings for Scott as anything but friendly until the night before.

Stiles _likes_ Shelly. She’s fun to talk to, and has this dry sense of humor about everyone around them that Stiles finds really satisfying. He just…

It’s no use. Stiles is stuck on Scott. There might be a lot of wolves in the forest, but none of them are Scott’s wolf. It’s no use. See? When Stiles looks up he even thinks someone else looks just like Scott. There’s no way Stiles is getting Scott off his brain.

Wait. That _is_ Scott! And Scott’s walking toward him. 

Stiles stops halfway through his monologue on his chosen college major (journalism), and stares at Scott, who pauses a few feet away. If Shelly tries to get Stiles’ attention, he doesn’t give it to her. All of his senses are focused on Scott and the fact that Scott is looking straight at Stiles. Scott is _here_ for Stiles.

Scott waves, and it’s so sweet and so _Scott_ that Stiles can’t help but smile. Scott isn’t holding a grudge for how Stiles yelled after him earlier. Scott’s here. In an instant, Stiles forgives Scott for running away, because he’s back now.

Scott is back and he’s walking toward Stiles, stopping just a few feet away and asking if Stiles wants to dance.

Stiles nods eagerly before he remembers he’s been talking to Shelly. Turning to her, Stiles winces and says, “Sorry. Um, excuse me.”

Shelly blinks a few times, looking back and forth between Stiles and Scott. “Uh, okay. Yeah. Later.”

She looks disappointed, but Stiles can’t quite bring himself to care. He puts his hand in Scott’s, shivering at the way Scott’s skin against Stiles’ feels. By the time they find a relatively open space to dance in, Stiles’ neck feels like it’s on fire. It feels like everyone in the room is watching them. 

It’s a slow song, so Stiles lets Scott pull him close, until they’ve got their arms wrapped together and are swaying back and forth. Swallowing against his suddenly-dry mouth, Stiles manages to say, “You came back.”

“I did,” Scott says, nuzzling his face against the side of Stiles’ neck. Stiles doesn’t think he’s danced with someone the same height as him since middle school. “I’m sorry I ran.”

“Are you done running?” Stiles asks, wrapping his arms further around Scott’s waist. “Or is this going to be a thing?”

“I’m done,” Scott says, almost immediately. “I promise.”

Stiles nods, rubbing his scent onto Scott, because it smells like Scott’s taken a shower since they were together earlier. 

“Stiles,” Scott says, pulling back. He stops swaying and looks directly at Stiles. “I’m here. I’m here for good.”

Heart beating so wildly it feels like it might explode, Stiles licks his dry lips. “Yeah,” he says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Yeah, me too.”

The enormity of the moment hits Stiles and makes him sway with dizziness, but there’s no way he’s going to pass out and miss the rest of the moment. He’d never forgive himself. 

Pulling Scott close again, Stiles hugs Scott tightly. He never wants to let go. He hopes Scott can keep his promise. 

When Stiles kisses the side of Scott’s neck, Scott gasps softly, his heartbeat ticking faster and a subtle waft of arousal lifting from his skin. Interest piqued, Stiles whispers into Scott’s ear, “If we hadn’t been interrupted earlier, what do you think would have happened?”

Scott shudders and steps on Stiles’ foot. “Oh, sorry!” Scott cries, picking up his foot. He looks back at Stiles with dark eyes and a hint of a grin on the edges of his lips. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“So bad,” Stiles says.

As they reach the elevator, Stiles feels his blood hum through his veins. He knows he reeks of arousal, but he can't help it. Scott came back. They can pick up where they started. Stiles can press himself against Scott, mark Scott in a dozen ways, in a dozen places. 

The elevator doors open and Scott barely pulls on Stiles before Stiles is crowding him against the back wall of the elevator, pressing a desperate, filthy kiss to Scott's lips. 

Through the never ending litany of _Scott, Scott, Scott_ seeping through his brain, Stiles has a thought. He gives Scott's tongue one last suck and then breaks away. Gasping for air before he can speak, Stiles says, "I don't even know what the hell I'm doing!"

Scott's face falls, and Stiles has this moment of panic where he's sure Scott's going to run, even though he promised not to. "You mean you don't..." Scott looks like he might cry. "You said you were in this. For good."

"Oh, my god," Stiles cries, grabbing Scott by the face and pressing seven or eight good, hard kisses to Scott's lips. "I meant, I don't know how to have sex with you. I've only had sex like, twice. With girls. Well, _a_ girl."

Scott looks past Stiles' shoulder for half a moment before he gasps. "Oh, my god. Me too. I mean, one girlfriend, but like loads of times."

Stiles presses his palm to Scott's hard on in revenge for showing Stiles up by bragging. As revenge plots go, Stiles figures it's one of the nicest, because Scott gasps, his eyelids slipping shut. 

"Maybe we–" Scott gasps again as Stiles strokes his hand upward. "Maybe we should stick to the basics. For– Ah! For now."

Stiles presses his erection against Scott’s hip, trying to get some friction and some release from the overwhelming need. “Yeah,” Stiles whines, barely registering it when the elevator doors open with a ding. “ _Scott_.”

“C’mon,” Scott says, pushing at Stiles until they’re both out of the elevator and in the hallway. “My room or yours?”

It seems like a stupid question, because Scott’s room is closer to the elevator, but then Stiles thinks about it again. Scott’s room is where they almost got this going earlier in the day, but it’s also where Scott abandoned Stiles when they got interrupted. Stiles doesn’t want any reminders of that incident, especially not the stressed scents that are bound to still be lingering in the room.

“My room,” Stiles says, trying quickly to think of an excuse that doesn’t remind Scott that it’s still possible for him to back out. Then Stiles remembers what his room has that Scott’s probably doesn’t. “I know we said we were sticking to the basics, but I’ve got some, uh, _lube_ in my room.”

“You brought lube to La Lune?” Scott asks with a laugh, pulling Stiles down the hallway, past Scott’s door, and to Stiles’. “I thought you said you’ve never thought about… I mean, with a _guy_?”

“I _haven’t_ ,” Stiles says, only lying a little bit as he gets his door unlocked. “I use it to, you know, jack off.”

Stiles watches Scott’s eyes go impossibly dark before they flare with color. He laughs and pulls Scott into the room, kissing him. “Like that idea?”

Scott kisses Stiles back, hands roaming all over Stiles’ chest and hips. The door closes behind them and Stiles figures Scott must’ve kicked it closed. When Scott breaks the kiss, he whispers, “Can I watch that?”

His voice just as soft and secret, Stiles asks, “Watch what?”

“ _You_.” Scott’s voice is a barely coherent moan. “Jacking off. Want to see how you like it.”

Stiles’ mouth goes absolutely dry and he really, really wants that, but he feels self-conscious at the same time. It’s not like he has a whole lot of experience being sexual with people. What if Scott sees what Stiles likes and gets freaked out? Sure, Stiles and Scott done _something_ together before, but Stiles doesn’t remember exactly what, though he suspects dry humping. 

Looking at Scott, smelling how turned on Scott is, Stiles relents. He kind of wants to do anything that will keep Scott with him, but the more he thinks about it, the more Stiles likes the thought of Scott’s eyes on him. He wonders if Scott will wait until just the right moment to pounce, and _fuck_ if Stiles doesn’t want to be pounced on.

“Yeah,” Stiles says finally, fumbling to get Scott’s shirt buttons undone. “But I’m not gonna be the only one naked, okay?”

Scott nods, undoing Stiles’ belt and letting the pants slip from Stiles’ hips. Scott leans forward and whispers, “This time,” in Stiles’ ear. 

Stiles’ knees almost give out and he leans heavily on Scott so he doesn’t lose his balance. “Oh, my god, Scott,” Stiles cries, redoubling his efforts to get Scott naked. “Oh, my god!”

Without meaning to, Stiles puts his claws through Scott’s undershirt, ripping it when he tries to get it up and over Scott’s head. Scott’s the picture of calm and collected, shrugging off the lost garment and standing there in his boxer shorts, while Stiles’ teeth are sharp and every inch of his now-bare skin feels like a fuse set to make him explode. 

“Show me,” Scott urges, a smile on his reddened mouth. Scott’s eyes go yellow and it’s the only indication that he’s starting to lose control. “ _Show_ me.”

Stiles breathes through his mouth, avoiding most of the heady arousal scent in the air, as he turns, looking for his bag, and the lube in the pocket. He needs a few more breaths before he can put away his claws and use shaking fingers to undo the zipper and pull the travel-sized tube out of the bag. He looks up at Scott, who’s now completely naked. 

The sight of Scott’s dick, curving so far upward it’s pressed just under his navel, makes Stiles’ mouth water and his whole body shudder. That’s all for _him_. Scott is his _mate_! “Fuck,” Stiles curses, stumbling to the bed and flinging himself down onto it. “Come here!”

Scott obeys, rushing over to the bed and kneeling on it, leaning down to kiss Stiles silly. Between kisses, while the long, hot length of Scott is pressed against Stiles’ right side, Scott says, “Show me.”

Hands shaking, Stiles gets the tube open and squirts a little bit onto his right palm. It’s hard to move his right hand, because Scott is pressed against his shoulder and elbow, but Stiles gives it his best shot. He sets aside the tube and puts his hand to his cock, hissing at the cold lube against his heated skin. “I just kinda–” Stiles says, moving his hand up and down and getting the lube nice and spread out. The feel of it makes Stiles gasp and he just about comes when Scott starts mouthing at his neck.

“You’re–” Stiles gasps again at the feeling of pointed-sharp teeth scraping along his neck. “ _Fuck_. You’re not even paying attention.”

Scott puts his hand over Stiles’, following the motion of Stiles’ hand for a few strokes before he brushes Stiles’ hand away and takes over. “I think I’ve got it.”

Stiles’ toes curl and he presses his heels into the bed, arching up into Scott’s hand, crying, “Oh! Oh, fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut to focus on the rough drag of Scott’s hand on his cock. Even touching him, Scott feels too far away, so Stiles reaches for him, pulling him further on top of Stiles and kissing him hard.

Stiles feels coiled up, ready to explode, and when Scott presses his dick against Stiles’, wrapping them both in one hand, Stiles can’t hold it back any longer. “Gonna–” he gasps.

“Yeah,” Scott agrees, thrusting against Stiles, and the memory of the other night comes back to Stiles in a rush as he comes. 

Scott strokes them a few more times, making Stiles cry out, because he’s so, so sensitive, Scott’s touch almost hurts. It’s too much and Stiles is about to push Scott away when Scott’s hand stills and Scott’s dick pumps quickly, twitching against Stiles’. Hot come spreads out between their bellies and Stiles wants to focus on that feeling, but Scott pulls Stiles’ lower lip between his teeth and it’s _very_ distracting.

As his heartbeat starts to slow, Stiles runs his hands up and down Scott’s skin. He thinks about the fact that there are only a few more days before La Lune is over. “Can I come home with you?” he asks Scott, his voice soft and more hesitant than he would like.

“To Beacon Hills?” Scott asks, pressing up onto his elbows to look down at Stiles. “ _Yeah_! You could meet my mom and…” As Scott’s voice trails off, his smile fades. “And my pack.”

“You don’t want me to meet your pack?” Stiles asks, watching Scott’s face carefully. 

Scott’s eyes widen and he presses kisses to Stiles’ mouth, one after the other. “Of _course_ I want them to meet you. I’m just–” Scott sighs. “They’re always talking about rebuilding the pack. You know, _babies_.”

Suddenly, Scott going hot and cold on Stiles makes a lot more sense. Stiles knows that despite having fought anti-werewolf prejudice their whole lives, some werewolf packs aren’t as accepting as others. Well, fuck them. Scott promised he was done running, and Stiles made a promise in return. Stiles just has to make Scott realize that nothing, not even prejudiced pack mates, is going to keep them apart.

True to his fashion, Stiles makes a joke out of it. “Well, we could always tell them we’re pretty sure babies won’t be happening, but we could try _real hard_.”

Scott’s face goes blank, and then red as he chokes. Coughing as he laughs, Scott nudges Stiles’ shoulder and says, “We can’t tell them _that_!”

Chuckling, Stiles runs a finger through the mess on his stomach, spreading it out. “I’m pretty sure they’re gonna smell it on us, Scotty.”

When Scott tilts Stiles’ chin up, Stiles accepts another kiss. This one’s long, deep, and feels like another promise. When Scott breaks the kiss, drawing back, he smiles. “Come home with me?” he asks.

“Sure,” Stiles replies, pulling Scott down onto him and rolling them over so he’s above Scott. “And even if they don’t like me, I _know_ my dad’s gonna like you. We’re gonna be fine.”

Scott laughs again, brushing a thumb against Stiles’ cheek. “Why do I get the feeling that this optimism is a rare thing?”

“Give me a break.” Stiles traces his thumb across one of Scott’s nipples. “I’m come-drunk. You can’t hold anything I say against me.”

Scott laughs so hard he almost knocks Stiles right off the bed.

~*~

During the last few days of La Lune, more and more werewolves pair off. Erica and Boyd are no surprise, but Old Jed actually pairs up with a woman at least fifteen years younger than him. They look happy together, so Scott figures it’s not his place to criticize. After all, he and Stiles are the only ones who mated within their gender. 

Scott looks it up once while Stiles is in the shower and sees that same-sex matings aren’t at all unheard of. It just never really came up in either of the packs Scott belonged to and it’s not like he can rely on pop culture, because so much of the stuff out there about werewolves is blatantly _wrong_. Apparently, though, wolves who _know_ they’re non-straight usually don’t go to La Lune, or any of the other retreats like it, because the expectation is to find a mate you can make babies with.

Scott sees Malia board the bus back down the mountain with that Isaac guy, and Stiles’ cousin Jackson – who threatened Scott with bodily harm should Scott hurt Stiles – appears to be talking to two girls at the same time. Stiles pulls Scott to the back of the bus, pushing Scott into the same seat where they’d met. 

“Appropriate, don’t you think?” Stiles asks, settling back into his seat.

Scott takes Stiles’ hand, lacing their fingers together. “You ready for today?”

Stiles shrugs and gives Scott the small smile Scott is starting to think of as his. “As ready as I’ll ever be. You?”

“I can’t wait to see this Jeep you’ve been bragging about,” Scott says with a laugh, kissing Stiles’ cheek and then settling into his own seat. Maybe he’s just high on finding his mate and on lots of orgasms, but Scott feels like nothing can go wrong. Scott’s alpha is just going to have to deal with it. Scott’s pack is just going to have to deal with it.

When Scott looks over at Stiles, every voice in his head says in unison, “Mine,” and Scott knows he’s got it right this time.


End file.
